History Unveiled
by dancing in rain
Summary: A prequel to BrennaM's 'A New Threat', chapter 11 finally posted! Rated M for language,violence,some sexual situations. AU for obvious reasons, not HBP compliant.
1. Default Chapter

**AN: **First and foremost, I must acknowledge the marvelous BrennaM, not only for writing a cracking good story 'A New Threat', but also for allowing me to post this as a prequel to her story. Brenna, you are a muse, an evil and maniacal one, but wonderful none-the-less. Thanks!

**Disclaimer: **I do not claim any rights to the world of Harry Potter or it's characters. They are the property of JKR, her publishers and Warner Bros. I also borrowed the italicized bit directly from Order of the Phoenix. I cannot take credit for that bit of literary work, I'm not that talented.

* * *

_Only one couple were still battling, apparently unaware of the new arrival. Harry saw Sirius duck Bellatrix's jet of red light. He was laughing at her. "Come on, you can do better than that!" He yelled, his voice echoing around the cavernous room._

_The second jet of light hit him squarely on the chest._

_The laughter had not quite died from his face, but his eyes widened in shock…_

_It seemed to take Sirius an age to fall. His body curved into a graceful arc as he sank backward through the ragged veil hanging from the arch…_

_And Harry saw the look of mingled fear and surprise on his godfather's wasted, once-handsome face as he fell through the ancient doorway and disappeared behind the veil, which fluttered for a moment as though in a high wind and then fell back into place. (Order of the Phoenix, JKRowling)_

The bolt had hit him with deadly accuracy, in the chest, sending shocks of agony licking through his body, paralyzing him with pain as he was knocked through the air. 'Bloody hell, when did she get so damn accurate with her curses? You'd think the time in Azkaban would have affected her aim, because of disuse if not from the insanity' was his first thought. He felt the sensation of freefall, his eyes seeking out the form of his godson, concern over his safety foremost in his mind even now. His cousin's laughter rang in his ears, gloating in her triumph over him. It wasn't a killing curse, but Gods if it didn't hurt enough to make him wish it was.

He felt his back brush against something, so light; it gave way with the weight of his body's momentum. Then he viewed the arch as he passed through it, surprise registering in his mind as the scene changed, something completely different from the Ministry he had previously occupied. And he fell, further than he should have before his body made contact with the ground, voices whispering, "welcome, welcome" before silencing as he passed the stone pillars.

For a moment, his mind flashed back to the events of the past hour. Dumbledore may have had a point after all, wanting him to stay put. He could remember Remus telling him the same as he'd snatched up his wand and robe then following Moody and Kingsley. His only thought had been for Harry, to protect Harry. He'd seen the other children as he stormed through the room with the tank, Ginny and Hermione, unconscious on the floor, Ron, wrestling with one of the brains. He'd checked both girls, verifying that they were still breathing before tearing into the final room where Harry was.

He remembered disabling the death eater who'd engaged him before moving on to Bella. He'd taunted her, underestimating her speed, and then been too slow to dodge the second curse, catching it full power to his torso. Perhaps this wasn't such a smart idea after all, he'd need some recuperating time before he was fit to look after Harry this summer…

He was pulled from his thoughts by agony shooting through his all ready abused flesh. The air was driven from his lungs, and the impact of his landing aggravated the ache he was still experiencing from the curse. One final thought crossed his mind, 'I'm too old for this,' and then his vision faded to black.

* * *

Hermione Granger bolted upright in her bed, the ghost of a word unspoken on her lips from a dream that she couldn't remember. She pushed her hair back from her face, fingers tangling in the damp mass. She could smell the tang of sweat on her body and the pillow she was reclining on. Huffing a sigh, she pushed the blankets off her body in order to get up and change her nightclothes. That they were drenched again was her clue that she'd been reliving the fight at the Ministry of Magic. 

She shucked her pajamas off, trading them for a fresh nightshirt, her mind wrestling over the events that she wanted to forget, but could not. She had the lingering after-effects from a nightmare, the telltale increase in her heart rate and the hum of adrenaline racing in her blood. Sometimes she could see the purple afterglow of the silent curse flying in her direction from behind her closed lids. And what was worse, in some respects, was that she was stuck at home alone, rattling around the house while her parents went to work, unsure if she would be allowed to join her friends at school for the next term or not.

It had been a horrid way to end the school year, spending the majority of the last few weeks in the infirmary, being smothered by Madam Pomphery's constant attention. Then there was the leaving feast, one that Harry didn't attend. She cornered him in the common room long enough to extract the promise that he would sit with her and Ron on the way home. It was rather sad in the end, not being able to say anything freely because of Luna and Neville, and only being able to give him a quick, tight hug and brushing a light kiss on his cheek before whispering that she would owl him. She'd also given him her number so that he could call, not that she'd expected the Dursley's to let him use the phone, but he'd managed to send Hedwig with a note that he would call around midnight on every Wednesday ensuring his aunt and uncle were asleep. It was an arrangement that worked until he'd been moved to Grimmauld. And for the first three weeks, she was grateful for being tired come Thursday morning. At least she could have a bit of a lie in, after all, what else was she going to do when she wasn't permitted to leave the house unless accompanied by her parents?

Unfortunately, all the spare time left her mulling over her own thoughts. And there were times when she felt guilty for some of the thoughts that she had about Sirius, telling Harry that he was an irresponsible person. Suggesting that if the man thought something was a good idea, that it was grounds to have second thoughts about the notion. She was even reproaching herself for looking down on Harry's godfather for his treatment of Kreature, after all, the house elf had proved duplicitous in the end, and the betrayal had lead to Harry running off to protect the latest parental figure in his life.

It had been a petty thing, to resent someone for a difference of opinion, but there was something about the notion of slavery that had made her balk at the idea behind house elves in the first place. But she had to realize, after examining the facts, that even if it was indentured servitude, most elves were very happy and well treated. She didn't have the heart to pursue freedom for all the elves, but she could revise the S.P.E.W. mission goals to ensure the humane treatment of the beings. Rather than forcing them to endure lifetimes of self inflicted torture, ironing ears or slamming their fingers in doors as punishment for the slightest infractions, they should be given some dignity and pride in their service.

But still, that didn't fix the hole in Harry's life, nor cure the feeling that it just wasn't right that the man was gone. And, if she really thought about it, the whole situation was a terrible injustice, one that she was incapable of fixing, for all that her dad and mum were consummate subscribers to the adage that one could do anything that one put their mind to. But that was not the case this time. She remembered Harry telling her what Remus Lupin had said, that Sirius was gone, that he was dead. And it was unfair! He'd spent twelve years in prison, he'd been hiding for two more years, unable to live his life for nearly half the time he'd been alive. And now he was gone, still listed as a criminal post mortem.

The thought made her want to cry, especially coupled with the notion that it could have been her, or Ron, or Harry that was killed that night…

* * *

"You really should sleep mate." 

"I don't want to sleep, I keep seeing him, falling through the veil…" the raven haired boy stared at the useless hands in his lap. "Everyone who cares about me ends up dying…"

"That's not true, Hermione and I are still here for you. It's not something that's going to change." The red-head tried to console his friend, but knowing that it wasn't going to pull the sullen boy out of his brooding any more than it had the past nights that he'd said it. It didn't make the sentiment any less true; he would be there for his friend, no matter what…

"It was my fault, if I'd just listened, just learned to block my mind… It could be you next, and that would be my fault too…" He closed his eyes, tears welling up for what seemed like the thousandth time over a man that he barely knew, yet had come to care deeply for.

How was he going to protect his friends from the danger of associating with him?

* * *

He stared at the fire, drinking a glass of scotch, trying to forget his pain. He wasn't the last Marauder, there was still one more out there, but he'd sacrifice his lycan life to make sure that he was the last in the end. Even if it meant that he wasted away and died in Azkaban. It would be no worse than he deserved for letting is own friend molder there for twelve years. That slimy rat had much to answer for, and Sirius's absence was another mark against him. He'd betrayed Lily and James, that was for sure, and Remus was positive that he'd heard enough that night two years ago to inform He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named of Sirius's connection with Harry. 

He'd find a way to make the rat pay…

* * *

Gone… One of the greatest tormenters in his life was gone, dead by his own foolhardy actions. Typical Gryffindor, he charged in when he should have stayed behind, seeking out glory and Dumbledore's benevolent approval. Served the fool right to have such an end, and yet there was something distinctly dissatisfying with it. He'd never admit it, it wasn't as if he admired the man for his dedication to the Potter brat, but there was something to be said for his loyalty for a boy he'd barely known. No, it wasn't admiration, the man had been too reckless to be so highly thought of, but a grudging respect that he'd at least been willing to sacrifice his worthless hide for someone. If he'd been sorted into Slytherin like the rest of his family, things would have been vastly different. 

But he hadn't survived this long by considering the 'what ifs' of life, he had to focus on the reality…

* * *

She watched the children, trying to gauge the moods. Her heart went out to Harry, for his loss and the tragedy that had befallen him in his life. If he'd let her, she'd have bundled him up in a big squeezing hug and never let go, but he'd chosen to distance himself. And recognizing that he was in a highly taciturn phase where holding close would only push him further away, she turned her attention to the two youngest in her brood. When he was ready, she'd be there, till then, there were still Ron and Ginny to fuss over, Ron who still needed his potions, and Ginny who tried to be strong, but was troubled by nightmares again, stemming from her possession in her second year. 

Yes, there was much to be done; the house was still infested with dark objects, not a suitable place to have children in at all, but if Dumbledore thought it was best, who was she to argue. And Buckbeak, the hippogriff was in need of a bath, perhaps she could speak to Dumbledore about Hagrid coming to retrieve the beast. She needed to keep an eye on Harry, in case his scar started hurting, Albus would want to know immediately. There was also a meal to prepare…

Anything to keep her from thinking that she'd never quite believed that Sirius was completely innocent. That he'd been a bad influence on Harry. She had felt that his wild behavior and inappropriate stories would give the boy rash ideas of charging into dangerous situations. She'd never wanted for anything bad to happen to him, but it had. Now she had to live with the regret that she'd wanted to keep the two of them apart for Harry's own safety. And it turned out that the poor boy was safe in some large part because of the very characteristics she'd wanted to shield Harry from.

Yes, the children would be up soon. She really needed to start getting breakfast ready…

* * *

He'd spent the summer planning. There was much that needed doing before the children came back to school. Merlin bless Minerva for her fortitude and unwavering support. Without her steady presence, he'd never have been able to handle his headmaster duties and work around Cornelius's futile attempts to placate the Wizarding world. The war was coming, and attempting to ensure the safety of so many muggle borne students and their families had stretched him thin. 

He spared a rare moment to linger on Sirius Black and his sacrifice. It was nobly done, and he truly wished that he could have foreseen enough to avoid it. A needless waste, if he hadn't been so blinded by the need to shelter Harry from what was coming, if he'd just told the boy what he'd suspected. He'd learn from that mistake and allow Harry to make decisions for himself. When the boy was ready…

But there was no more time to linger on that situation; the students would be back in a week…

* * *

The note was simple, straight forward, and brief. It wasn't signed, but he knew whom it was from. 

_When you return to school, watch Potter's Mudblood. Keep me informed._

As if he didn't have enough going on with his schoolwork and maintaining control of the Slytherin house. He may only be in his sixth year, but after Flint left, it was easy to wrest control from the seventh years. A few well placed threats, some black mail, not to mention that Crabbe and Goyle were bigger and stronger than most of them, if not lacking in the ability to cobble two thoughts to rub together. Still, he used them as he would without compunction. His father had been proud. He'd have to work hard to keep up with Granger, who had nothing better to do than to obsessively study. His achievements would mean nothing if he came in second to someone so tainted, his father's belief.

So, his father had escaped from Azkaban. Not a big surprise given that the dementors had abandoned their posts. He was likely residing at one of the numerous Malfoy cottages, plotting his plots that would make him the Dark Lord's right hand man. His father didn't like to get his hands dirty though, typically resorting to his near bottomless bank vaults, and not being above using his family to his ends, letting them act as his eyes and ears, and at times his hands as well. He wondered if his mother had received orders and what they would have been. He made a mental note to search her room before she returned that evening. He was merely a pawn, feeding information to ensure that the right side won, he should at least make sure he had all the information he could gather. A Malfoy always ensured that he came out on top…Merlin help his family if his father's schemes didn't going according to plan.

Somehow, he felt that his father's return presaged a game that got a whole lot more dangerous. Damn Potter and his mudblood for putting him in this position in the first place…

* * *

AN: Due to my desire to make a correction, I've accidentally deleted the AN and Disclaimer, I have fixed this, and am extremely sorry for the mess… 


	2. Chapter 1

**AN: **Thanks to Raspberri13, and as always to the magnificent BrennaM! Your reviews are appreciated greatly! I hope this chapter is as well received. The first few chapters will be a bit angsty, but it is rather depressing to lose someone close to you after all. This chapter was inspired by BrennaM's depiction of Harry and Hermione's relationship in chapter 2.

**Disclaimer:** Second verse, same as the first, story gets a whole lot worse...

* * *

Hermione awoke to the sounds of screaming. Her eyes snapped open as she jerked out of bed. Scrambling down the stairs of the girls' dormitory, she nearly tripped but regained her footing and sprinted into the common room. 

"Sirius, no Sirius!" The tall boy sobbed, his eyes closed tight. Tears of pain, anger and guilt streaked his cheeks. "I'm sorry, so sorry. It's all my fault…" he whispered, anguish, so tangible in his voice, nearly broke her heart to witness.

"Harry," she approached cautiously. "Harry, wake up." The last time she'd tried rousing the boy from his demon-laden dream, she'd found herself flung against the wall. Later she had found that her best friend had mistaken her for a death eater while in the throes of the nightmare. Gently, she lay a hand on his arm, shaking him, "Harry, it's me, Hermione."

This had become the routine since returning to Hogwarts several weeks ago. The dreams came often. It was a rare evening that he slept a full night through. His eyes fluttered open. "Herm…Hermione?"

"Yes Harry, you were dreaming again." She felt stupid stating the obvious. Yet, it was the only thing left to say. She knew he was reliving the night Sirius fell through the Veil.

Most of the time, that was the image plaguing him. But guilt was an insidious emotion, and once wakened, caused it's victim to constantly over-analyze past events in life. Sometimes, it was Cedric's death. Others, his subconscious mind tortured him with visions of his friends turning away from him, Dumbledore watching, even encouraging Voldemort to take his life because of all the people who had died because of him. But mostly, it was reliving that night at the Ministry, the loss of his godfather hitting hard because he'd been the cause.

There really wasn't any point in trying to tell him it wasn't his fault. He never listened, and as his friend, she had stopped uttering the same platitudes everyone else felt would help. They didn't. If it were a logical problem, maybe it would have. But they were dealing with raw emotions, which hardly ever responded well to rational thinking. The only thing Hermione could do for the time being was to be there for him. To hold him, to listen when he did speak about it, and try to share the burden of grief.

She sat on the couch where Harry had originally fallen asleep. He put his head in her lap, a very familiar routine, and she smoothed his hair away from his face. "Shhh... Harry, relax. Do you want to tell me about it?" He shook his head in the negative, so she continued running her fingers through his raven locks. The fire crackled, and it would have seemed an intimate moment to anyone watching. But they were only friends, closer than most, due to the many precarious situations they had shared through their years at Hogwarts.

She felt him sigh, "You know Herm, I would give anything to be able to go back to normal. You know, sleep through the night, not think about 'pending doom' all the time. I feel like I've forgotten how to laugh."

"I know Harry. It must be hard for you, to know what the prophecy says, to know that you have to…" She trailed off, the thought that her best friend would actually have to kill another person weighing on her. Not the fact that the deed had to be done, it was, after all, coming down to a matter of self-defense. What the reality of taking another's life would do to her already burdened friend was what concerned her most. "Have you considered the temporary memory charm? Dumbledore did say that they could remove the memories surrounding that night, you wouldn't be like Lockhart. Or put your memories in a pensieve…"

"No!" The word was almost violent with the emotion behind it. Harry lowered his voice and continued, "No, I don't want to forget. I don't want to feel this way, but I can't forget what happened. It's a reminder that I have to keep with me or I might go running off half-cocked again, and who knows who would get hurt the next time. It could be Ron or Ginny, or even you." His green eyes looked up at her, moisture pooling in the corners, "I can't lose you, you and Ron are all I have left…"

"Harry James Potter! Don't you even start with that maudlin 'woe is me' rubbish. You know very well that the entire Weasley family thinks of you as one of their own. If they could make room in the Burrow, they'd have you there, Dumbledore or no. And Professor Lupin, Tonks and Moody all take quite an interest in your well being also. Didn't you tell me that Dumbledore himself admitted to caring about you too much? Not to mention that Ginny and Neville would follow you anywhere, HAVE followed you in the interest of helping in what ever way they could? You aren't alone, even if something unforeseen were to happen to myself or Ron." All of this was uttered in a serious, heart-felt tone, her eyes never breaking contact with his, willing him to see the truth of her words.

"You know what I mean Hermione…"

She turned her eyes to the fire, as though looking for her answer in the leaping flames. "I do Harry, you mean more to me than anyone else in this world, we've been through a lot together. Things that my parents, whom I also love, cannot even grasp for all that their baby girl is growing up." She paused, measuring her words carefully, "but you can't let your feelings of guilt continue driving everyone away. It was an accident, Harry, it wasn't meant to happen, but it did..."

He sat up leaning back against the couch, eyes squeezed shut again. "If I had just managed to learn occlumency like the Headmaster wanted, none of this would have happened."

She huffed a sigh, they'd had this conversation before, and she brought her arguments to bear. Perhaps if she said it often enough, he'd believe her for once. "As soon say if Professor Snape wasn't such a bitter individual toward your father, or for that matter, if Umbridge hadn't closed off communications like she did, you'd have been owling regularly if she hadn't interfered and we'd have known that Sirius was okay. If Dumbledore had not left, we could have gone directly to him. If I had insisted on physically flooing to Grimmauld when you'd only spoken to Kreatcher. Or better yet, taken the thestrals to Grimmauld. Maybe I'm just as much to blame as you are in this mess, I mean, I am supposed to be a clever witch right?"

"Hermione…"

"No Harry, think about it. I'd been a bit concerned about the rivalries between Lupin, Sirius and the potions master for a while. Maybe I should have gone to Professor Snape and had him teach **me** how to block thoughts so that I could try and teach you. He may not like me overmuch, but he isn't holding on to a decades old grudge about something my parents did to him. It may have come to nothing, or it could have become yet another lesson for the DA to learn." She contemplated the notion briefly because it did have some merit.

"You really are starting to border on the ridiculous you know," Harry commented, looking at her through slotted eyes.

"Perhaps I am, and one day you will realize that you are too by trying to shoulder all the blame. The fact of the matter is that you wanted to rescue someone that meant a lot to you, and he did the same for you. If you really want to get technical, he was fulfilling his duty as your godfather, protecting you. Don't lessen the sacrifice he made by assigning yourself all the fault. There are thousands of 'what ifs' that could have changed the outcome of that night."

"Sounds remarkably like Lupin when he took me to task over the map in third year. Are you taking lessons from him?" he attempted a joke, half smiling, though it still didn't reach his eyes. Then he flopped back into her lap, seeking the comfort of her closeness.

"Yes well, anything worth doing, is worth doing right. I may have some notes jotted down somewhere from the few days I was allowed to stay with you this summer." She flicked his nose. "You do realize that you are not the only one that misses him you know. Professor Lupin is taking it pretty hard too."

He looked at the fire, feeling her fingers stroke through his hair, soothing some of the tension. "I know. It's like walking on a knife-edge. Seeing him reminds me of losing Sirius, and at the same time I could barely keep myself from begging for stories about his time with my parents and Sirius. I'd probably have talked to him more over the summer, but I was afraid that he'd just blame me for everything."

Hermione pulled him into an awkward hug, whispering, "Owl him. It may do you both more good than you know. I have a feeling that he is worried about you, but doesn't want to push himself on you for fear that you'd assume that he was trying to take Sirius's place. You are one of his last links to his best friend, and I don't think he wants to lose that." It was a bit more than a feeling, she'd maintained a steady correspondence with the man, and the tone of his owls had indicated as much when he asked after Harry.

They lapsed into silence, and eventually Harry fell asleep again, soothed by Hermione's presence and tucked in the comfort of the couch. She leaned back further, reclining into the cushions and pillows, staring into space, contemplating the direction her life had taken.

Summer had been difficult for all of them. Harry had his grief, and toward the end of the holiday, his bouts guilt became increasingly more disturbing. She'd received many owls from Ron on the subject, which had made her feel helpless since she was unable to be there. Her consolation had been that Ron was there, keeping his eye on things, but then, Ron's emotional range was only slightly better than before, more a tablespoon instead of a teaspoon. It had been scary for him, and recovering from the damage had made him reconsider his desire to become an auror. In snippets of conversations and hints in his letters, she'd gathered that perhaps he would look to a different profession once seventh year was completed. In fact, he was all ready showing the fanatical tendencies toward quidditch that ensured she'd be hard-pressed to have a decent conversation with him in the months to come.

For her, the summer was trying for different reasons. A note had been sent home to the Grangers while she was in the hospital wing. Her parents had at least waited until they were in the car before beginning a series of lectures that would be repeated all summer long. Some began with "If we had known that you'd be in danger…" and others "I don't rightly know if we should allow you to go back next term…" and still more "You could finish out your education at a nice private school, then move on to a nice university". And she'd practically been under house arrest for the months of summer, neither parent willing to allow her out of their sight when in public. Her only contact with the Wizarding world was via owl post, which was difficult until she'd rented an owl for a few months so that she wouldn't have to wait on Hedwig or Pig to arrive with mail.

She'd finally prevailed upon them to permit her to stay at Grimmauld for three days while they were away at a dental conference. She was starting to despair of completing her education at Hogwarts. When her OWL scores arrived, they conceded that she'd done well, and it would be a waste to end her promising beginnings as a witch since she'd worked so hard. So, with two days left, they'd taken her to get her supplies. They'd taken her to the Hogwarts express and embarrassed her by treating everyone with wary distrust, much like her first year. They had further embarrassed her by walking her to a compartment on the train and waiting until the final call to board before leaving her with admonishments to "be safe" and "stay out of trouble for heaven's sake". She, in turn, had promised that she would faithfully owl them every week.

She wondered how long it would take them to realize that she hadn't promised to stay out of trouble. Hermione knew that she would be by Harry's side for the duration, no matter what the danger. And he was a magnet for trouble, first year with the Philosopher's stone, second year and the chamber of secrets, third year with Sirius, granted, she hadn't really been in danger fourth year, but fifth year certainly made up for that lack in her mind. She pondered what would happen through the course of this year, their sixth.

It had only taken her two days before she had come to the realization that the boys had hidden the fact that Harry was emotionally distraught. She could think of no other way to describe the way his mind plagued him in his dreams. His eyes were missing the glow of life. He was prone to fits of rage aimed mostly at himself, but partially at Bellatrix and Voldemort at well. She had observed him staring at Malfoy during the sorting feast, perfectly still but his eyes burned with fire, almost as if he was daring the blonde to start something so that he could finish it. This scared Hermione because she knew that her friend wasn't normally like this, the bottled emotions were unhealthy. And the lack of sleep didn't seem to be helping either.

After the first few episodes of being woken in the middle of the night, she'd had a discussion with Ron and then proceeded to change her routine. Research and homework was done in the mornings or immediately after her last class of the day. Ron took to studying with others, mostly whichever witch he was drooling over, removing her need to check his work for him. They both were available to him through the course of the day, Ron sharing classes with him when she did not. Harry, surprisingly, buckled down into his homework, discovering that he could sometimes forget his troubles if he concentrated on his work hard enough.

Hermione arranged to patrol early in the evening for her prefect duties. She'd then wolf down a quick meal at dinner before turning in early to bed, knowing that nine times out of ten, she'd be up in the wee hours of the morning when Harry woke up from his nightmares.

Others, while supportive after an edited version of the tale circulated, kept their distance. It was known that Harry didn't always wake-up immediately, and at times mistook friend for foe in the throes of his vivid dreams. The first night, Seamus had attempted to startle Harry into wakefulness, and received a broken nose for his efforts. Out of regret, Harry started sleeping on the couch in the common room so that he didn't continue to wake the others every night, which became a convenience in the end, saving her an extra set of stairs to climb in the dark.

It was found that she had the most calming influence over him, likely due to their friendship and shared trials. Which was not to say that the other boys in the dorm or Ginny weren't friends, but there was something more between the two of them. Perhaps it was because she saw and treated him like a brother, and he saw her like a sister, they knew how lonely it was, being only children. Something Ron would never understand, and often took for granted, being a part of a family as large as the Weasley clan.

She entertained a few uncharitable thoughts about the Wizarding world and the overall distain for muggle solutions, Mr. Weasley being one of the exceptions to the rule. What Harry needed was a psychiatrist to help him work through his problems before he self-destructed. The Wizarding world resorted to cheering charms and sleep draughts, or obliviation in extreme cases. None of which was an acceptable option to Harry. And they couldn't see a muggle therapist; he'd be put in a straight jacket as soon as he tried to explain about the Wizarding world.

Her mind was starting to fog, sleep tugging at her mind, dragging her into its depths. She wondered idly what it must be like to relive the same event every night. Her brain toyed with what little information she had on the arch housed in the department of mysteries, which turned out to be very little indeed. Why was it there? What did it do? Her eyes slipped closed. Perhaps she could slip into the restricted section of the library and look for some books that might touch on the subject. Harry said it looked really old, being fashioned out of stone, and that the curtain in the archway was tattered. Surely something that old would have something written to document its existence and function…

She did love a good mystery, and she detested not knowing. Maybe she could find something about what lay beyond the veil. She yawned, promising herself that Saturday she would do some research, in the interests of helping Harry. Yes, she'd do it for Harry…


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **Third verse, same as the first…

* * *

He stared at the parchment. It was pale, crisp and blank, just waiting to soak up ink as words were transcribed from his head onto its surface. His mind, however, was blank, devoid of concise thoughts, just a jumble of random ideas and emotion. He ran his hand through his hair, dragging at the dark messy locks. He fidgeted in the chair, scooting it back, sliding it forward, as if it's positioning was preventing him from focusing on his task. He took off his glasses, wiped the lenses with the corner of his shirt, and then replaced them. He picked up his quill, twirling it idly before scratching an itch on his neck. Then he glanced at the parchment again, which had not magically filled with words and still sat blank, waiting. He felt his brows draw together as he frowned, unsure of what to write.

"Harry, just write to him."

He met the amused smile of his friend, who hadn't even looked up from her own task, continuing to leaf through pages in a thick book, scanning for information of some sort. The she scratched out a few words on her own paper before returning to the text she was entrenched in.

"I am," he snapped.

The petulant tone in his voice was such that she shifted her attention from the book to meet his green eyes. She hazarded a peek at his parchment. "So I see." Her own tone was a mix of wry amusement and mother-like understanding. "Why don't you start with the date?"

She suppressed a grin as she turned back to her notes, listening to him grumble, "this is a letter and not a homework assignment," followed by the sound of him dipping his quill in ink and the scratching of his quill. "Next you'll suggest some flashy title across the top so that he'll fancy he's back here teaching defense against the dark arts classes," he added in a snarky tone.

"No, but perhaps an introduction would not be amiss, Dear Professor Lupin."

He snorted at the suggestion. "You don't use 'dear' when you write to another man Hermione, besides, it sounds all formal and stuffy."

"Really?" she asked in a surprised tone, playing to his attitude "Is it written down somewhere? Maybe in an etiquette book, though I would have thought that I'd have read something about it if that was the case."

"It's a guy thing okay? Unwritten code or something."

"Oh… Right then. Well, use just 'Professor Lupin' then. Follow up with some sort of greeting."

He didn't bother to answer her this time, choosing instead to apply quill to paper. She returned to her book, trying to decide whether it contained any promising tidbits of information or not.

_October 15, 1996  
__Professor Lupin,  
__I hope that things are going well for you._

Harry looked at the first sentence, shook his head and crossed it out. It struck him as too wishy-washy and not at all in keeping with the intent behind writing this letter. He started again, figuring it was best to tackle the subject head on.

_I realize that I'm probably the last person you expected to hear from, but you did say to keep in touch  
__when I left for the Dursley's, and I wasn't really ready to do much talking this summer._

He reread the sentence, thinking that it seemed adequate without coming across as girly. He scrawled out the next thought that popped into his head.

_The thing is, I'm still upset over losing Sirius, and there isn't anyone I can talk to besides Ron, Ginny  
__and Hermione, but they don't really understand because they haven't lost someone that close to them.  
__(I hope they never do) It is weird for me to say that Sirius was close to me when I haven't known him for  
__more than a few years, but it seems like there was a connection, and now he's gone. Hermione pointed  
out that you were affected by the loss too, and practically shoved a quill and ink into my hands at the  
__first possible moment and told me to write to you._

He paused for a moment, the corner of his mouth turning up at the exaggeration; a little bit of humor to balance the emotional words. It wasn't far from the truth however. As soon as he was awake this morning, she dragged him to the Hall for an early breakfast, and then on to library. She then instructed him to write the letter while she was searching for books.

_She was right, and I shouldn't have needed her to tell me that. If anyone would understand, it would be you.  
__I feel selfish for not seeing beyond my own sadness, to talk to you before, and part of me is afraid that you  
will not want to reply because I am the reason he went to the ministry that night. You have no idea how much  
I regret it. I'd say I'm sorry, but it won't bring him back, no matter how much I mean the words. I know that  
the words don't really help, but I wish they did. _

Harry sniffed, then blinked several times, recognizing the prickle behind his eyes that signaled the onset of tears. A small, warm hand covered his and gave a comforting squeeze. Sometimes he wondered how she knew when he needed a reassuring touch. He looked over his written words and could not think of anything further to add. He ended the missive with a 'Respectfully, Harry', and decided he was done.

Standing, he folded the parchment. "I'm going to send this with Hedwig. Are you planning on being much longer? I could wait for you if you want," he offered.

She waved him off absently, "I'm going to be a while yet, why don't you find Ron and do manly things, play with your brooms or challenge each other to endless games of chess that you hardly ever win."

* * *

With a huff, she slammed the book shut and re-shelved it. Hermione checked her watch and frowned. Two books, four hours of reading, and all she'd managed to come up with was a spell to turn doorways into temporary gateways between one location and another. It was a practice that fell out of use once apparition became popular. Besides which, she'd noticed that wizards tended to prefer a permanent connection to the floo network. 

The second book she grabbed because the title, 'Mirror Worlds', had looked promising. It turned out to be a disappointing collection of badly written fictional stories revolving around a witch who slipped into alternate realities when she slept. 'Well,' she'd thought philosophically, 'lends credence to the adage that you can't judge a book by its cover.'

She checked out a smaller tome containing a history of Stone Henge. She was hoping that it would hold something that might lead her in a new direction, spark some ideas. And she felt she would need some desperately given her familiarity with the books found in the general shelving of the library. The pickings were scarce, and she had a sinking suspicion that this quest for knowledge of the Veil was going to take longer than the search for Nicholas Flammel in first year. She needed to start thinking of a way to get a pass for the Restricted Section at this rate, either that or borrow Harry's invisibility cloak.

"No matter," she mumbled to herself as she started her trek back to the common room, "mysteries are supposed to be more challenging as one gets older, and it will make the answer seem that much more rewarding when I do finally come across it." And then grimaced at herself because she was giving herself a pep talk so early in the 'game', which was what she started to think of the mystique surrounding the veil as. It was a game, and it wouldn't be any fun if the answer was simple to find.

But she did long for something useful like a card catalogue or even a computer with internet access. Wishing for such things were useless, however, as she had neither, and was not likely to any time in the foreseeable future. If she had a better idea of what she was looking for, she might have been able to ask Madame Pince for some direction in her search, but for now, she'd have to settle for muddling through the hard way, alone.

* * *

She entered the Gryffindor common room to find it mostly empty. Four girls, three in their fourth year and one in her second, were huddled in a circle by the fireplace. She guessed that they were gossiping based on the incessant giggling that reached her ears. She tried recalling their names, coming up with Rebecca and her little sister Tricia, and identifying the other two as Pearl and Katherine. Having put names to faces, she dismissed their presence and continued to scan the room. Hermione's eyes lit on Harry and Ron, bent over a table that held a chessboard, teapot, and a few cups on saucers. 

"Hermione?" Her progress was halted by Pearl.

"Yes?" Curious as to what the fourth year could want, she joined the group, standing outside of the circle.

"We were wondering…" the girl trailed off into a fit of giggles.

Rebecca picked up the conversation for Pearl, "We wanted to know how long you and Harry have been together?"

"I've known Harry since first year. We've been good friends since Halloween of that year."

"That's so romantic," Tricia sighed. "Being together for so long, is he a good kisser?"

Hermione felt her jaw drop. Surely the didn't think… "Why in the world would I know something like that?" She fixed the youngest girl with an incredulous look.

"If you've been dating since your first year, you have to have kissed him by now." She looked expectantly at the bushy haired girl. The others nodded in agreement.

"Who ever said…? I'm not dating Harry!" she exclaimed in shock. "Wherever did you lot get such a hair-brained idea?" She felt her face flush in embarrassment.

"Well, you spend loads of time with him," Katherine pointed out logically.

"I spend lots of time with Ron too, nobody thinks I'm dating _him_."

"But you aren't alone with him as often as you are with Harry. Plus, you've been down here with him on the couch almost every morning since term started."

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, searching within herself for patience. "I am not dating Harry. We are friends, strictly in the platonic sense. Instead of wasting time speculating on other people's romantic lives, you should be devoting that excess mental energy on your studies. The three of you," she fixed her eyes on Pearl, Katherine and Rebecca in turn, "have OWLs next year. It's never too early to start studying for them. Now if you will excuse me." She turned on her heel and walked, back stiff, toward her friends.

Her ears caught a muttered, "bossy bookworm," from Rebecca.

'Fine, let them think that,' she counseled herself, 'it's better than having them imagine there is something going on between Harry and I.'

"Nah, it's a case of 'she doth protest too much'," Pearl replied. To which the group erupted into a round of laughter. Hermione winced, her hope that she'd heard the last of such a ridiculous speculation crushed. She joined her friends with a sigh, shooting a grateful smile at Ron when he offered her a cup of tea.

"What was that about?" Harry inquired, nodding toward the group she had escaped.

"Wooly-headed girls who have some mad notion that you and I are dating."

Ron snorted, fixing Hermione with an amused look. "Is there something you wish to tell me dear girl?" he asked in a tone that closely mirrored Dumbledore's in manner.

"Only that my dating Harry is about as likely as you and Ginny getting together!" she remarked ruefully, studying the board. "Harry, you have to move your king before Ron checks you with his knight." She sipped at her tea absently.

"Too late Herm, it's my turn." Ron moved his piece, "Checkmate. Game's mine."

"As if I expected anything less," Harry replied, finishing the last liquid in his own cup.

"Swirl around the dregs mate. Three times clockwise."

"What for?"

"Homework for divination. Trelawny has foreseen a refresher course in tasseomancy." He flipped the cup upside down in the saucer to drain. "You too, oh Doubter-of-the-Beyond."

Hermione glared good-naturedly, draining her cup of all but the leis and mimicked Harry's actions. "I'm surprised that you didn't drop that class like Harry and I, or at least take Firenze's version of divination instead."

Ron picked up Harry's cup, studying it for a few moments, twisting the china this way and that. He commented idly, "I needed a class that didn't require to much effort to pass. It's a nice follow up to potions with the greasy git on Monday's and Thursday's. The air may be smoky, but it doesn't smell as foul as some of the potions ingredients we have to use." He hmphed under his breath. "Let me borrow a bit of parchment and a pencil would you?"

She dug the requested items out of her bag, handing them over to the redhead. He sketched out a circle to denote the rim of the cup, and a smaller circle inside to show the bottom. Next he drew in various blobs and shapes, shading them lightly to indicate the globs of tealeaves.

"Right, this looks like the letter 'R', and this bit here looks like a bird, maybe a dove. That means," his brow furrowed as he tried to remember, "coming peace. And this hand shape here means you have a friend's assistance. And they are placed near the rim of the cup, so sometime in the near future, you will achieve peace with the assistance of a friend, whose name starts with and 'R'."

Hermione laughed and clapped her hands with glee. When both boys looked at her as though she was mental, she explained. "Well it's all so clear isn't it? Ron's obviously going to help you shove Malfoy off the astronomy tower next week so that he won't be around to harass us. Just think of how peaceful that would make life!" She chortled her amusement at the thought. Harry and Ron both joined in, which gave her a moment of contentment at the fact that Harry looked rather relaxed for the first time in quite a while.

Ron must have noticed this as well, for he tried to keep the humorous atmosphere by gesturing grandly with his long arms, tapping himself on the forehead dramatically. "Oh my dear," he mocked, his voice taking on a high-pitched accent that was eerily like his divination professor's. "Hand me your teacup." He snatched it from her hands, rolling it around while holding it up to the light. He tutted several times under his breath, "Oh my dear, just as I feared… I predict, oh, perhaps it's better if you do not know, the inner eye is a bit clouded today…"

He looked thoughtfully at the leaves again, then took up his pencil and sketched out another drawing, this time of what he found in her cup. Ron looked up at her, and then started pointing out things on the paper. "Actually Hermione, your leaves are sort of interesting. This looks like a closed book, and the leaves create a circle around it, which means that you have a question that requires investigation, but you will be successful. Because it's positioned toward the bottom of the cup, it's going to take some time. And here, at the top, that's an ant."

"You sure it isn't a spider?" she said sarcastically.

"No, it's an ant, only has six legs, not eight…"

"Yeah, and he's not squealing in fright," Harry interrupted.

"Shut it mate! You were a bit skittish yourself after seeing Aragog. Anyway, the ant stands for impending difficulties, which is going to happen soon. And here's a 'U', or maybe it's meant to be an 'A' since there's a dusting of pulverized leaves inside it."

"Rubbish and nonsense, the whole thing." She stood, "Perhaps I should go to my room and look for an answer on how to permanently do away with Umbridge without getting myself thrown in Azkaban." And with that, she walked off, climbing the stairs to the girls' dorms.

Ron looked over to his friend, whose expression was delighted at the notion of Dolorous Umbridge's demise. "Suppose now wouldn't be a good time to tell her about my new strategy for passing divination would it?"

"Probably not. You can tell me though. I might be able to soften her up a bit if it's really bad." Harry looked amused.

"I've decided to make predictions of Hermione's misfortunes this year. It'll be an easy pass, since Trelawny really doesn't like her for walking out of class in third year. It's sort of funny to watch her go on about Herm, 'no talent for the noble arts' and such."

"Why didn't you think of this last year when I could have benefited from the idea?" Harry accused.

"Actually, it was Ginny's idea, she mentioned it over the summer. I just figured that if Hermione were to bemoan her cursed fate during lunch or something, Lavender or Pavarti would tell Trelawny, and it would be proof that I had 'the sight'."

"That's a remarkably well thought out plan of yours. Still think you came up with it a year too late." He laughed again. "Definitely have to fill Hermione in on this one. She might enjoy pulling one over on Professor Trelawny."

"Well, that's me mate. All about strategy, I am. Another game?" He asked with a grin.

* * *

**AN: **Thanks to Rane2920072 and eowyngirl513, I'm glad that you are both enjoying the story. As always, a special thank you to BrennaM for her inspiring story, I myself cannot wait for the next chapter. And for those interested, I'm taking members for the "Get BrennaM for her evil cliffies" fan club. 


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **Can be found in the prologue.

* * *

There were times, especially of late, that he despaired, wondering if his life would ever get any easier. He'd never been a social extrovert by nature; socially inept was closer to the truth. He had always left the grandstanding and playing to the crowd to James and Sirius. It worked out well for all of them that way, James gaining the attention from Lily, Sirius gaining attention that had been lacking in his home life, Remus and Peter in the background, safe from notice. It was just a real bite in the arse that Peter used the unobtrusiveness to betray them all. 

For himself, it had been a case of having something to hide. His lycanthropy was a dirty secret, ensuring that he was isolated as a child. He hadn't wanted people to learn of his affliction, feeling shame at the lack of judgment that resulted in him becoming a werewolf in the first place. He didn't want to hear others clucking over what a burden he was to his parents, how stoic they were to continue to care for him despite his disease. He didn't need to be reminded, he all ready knew these facts, not that his parents ever saw him as anything less than their child. Remus had contented himself with his parent's love in his early years, and it had been enough, at least until school.

No, he had never had many true friends, but those he'd had, he clung to. It seemed ironic that he could look back now, view the uncertainty of his youth and think of it as the best years of his life. At the time, he'd been eager to grow up, figuring that life didn't start until one was an adult, but he was wrong. Life for him had started when he was accepted to Hogwarts.

He poured himself a healthy three fingers of scotch from the tackiest cut crystal decanter that he'd ever seen, mulling over the event that had changed his life for the better. His parents were both of the Wizarding world, his mum full blooded and his dad half blood. Before he'd been bitten, they'd do magic around the house, regale him with tales of dragons, vampires and schools that taught magic, embellished stories from their childhood. After his 'accident', all such talk ceased. He and his family had moved to an isolated residence, and he'd learned to fill his time with books and whatever domestic chores his mother would task him with.

He did remember, with some bitterness, being required to appear at the Ministry of Magic on one of the first full moons that he transformed. It was common practice for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures to photograph each registered werewolf during the full moon for identification purposes in case there was ever a need to hunt said werewolf down for capture. And so he was registered as a dangerous creature, and that was precisely how the personnel had treated him, instead of as an eight-year-old boy who was about to undergo an extremely painful change.

Even after being registered, someone always showed up on the night of a full moon to ensure that he was properly restrained and hadn't killed his parents prior to moonrise. Few parents would have allowed their children to associate with him, knowing what he was. So it became something that was not talked about, his parents becoming protective in order to shield him from unkindness. He knew that they did it out of love, and at the same time, he felt that it had stifled his growth as a person. One could only learn so much about life from books before yearning to do something, become someone.

When he received his letter to Hogwarts, his parents had quickly dismissed it, believing it too great a risk for him to be exposed to so many other children. What would happen if it became common knowledge that he was a werewolf? They had thought it was a sick joke of sorts; surely the Ministry had notified the schools in Europe that their son suffered from lycanthropy, sparing them the embarrassment of having to decline the offers.

For a brief moment, he had hoped that he would get to do something more, wished to meet people, make new friends, but it was quashed even as his eyes had started to light with excitement. No more was said about it for weeks. And then the day that Albus Dumbledore had come to the door, wishing to speak to his parents. The man was tall, and looked old, but his eyes were kind and twinkling, and he greeted Remus most cordially for all that Remus was merely eleven years old. What was said behind the closed doors of the study that afternoon, he never rightly knew, but the results were more than he'd ever hoped for.

He was going to Hogwarts! Provisions had been made, and his absence every 28 days would be explained away with a multitude of excuses, his school supplies purchased, and he was sporting a new eleven-inch wand of oak with a dragon heartstring core. His things packed in his father's old trunk; he was deposited on Platform 9&3/4 to attend school under the new headmaster of Hogwarts.

As he drank his scotch, Remus could recall his first trip on the Hogwarts Express. He had been filled with nervous anticipation, being away from his parents for the first time ever, excitement and fear dueling till his belly was a mass of raw nerves. He'd read as much of Hogwarts, A History as he could, trying to learn as much about the school as possible. He was alone in his compartment at first, but two hours into the journey, he was awakened from a nap by the door opening and slamming shut.

* * *

Two dark haired boys, slightly out of breath had joined him. The taller of the two had introduced himself as Sirius before slumping carelessly into the seat across from him. The other pushed his glasses further up on the bridge of his nose before extending his hand, "James Potter." 

And he had taken it, shaking the boy's hand briefly before stammering out, "R-Remus Lupin." Silence settled over the three of them as he studied each boy in turn, noting the differences between the two. James was a bit thinner and shorter; his eyes were hazel brown and his black hair unruly, sticking up in patches. Sirius possessed a fuller face, well groomed hair, was taller by a couple inches and had dark gray eyes that seemed to be taking his measure. At the time, he'd figured that he was imagining the penetrating stare, but in the future, he would see Sirius use it on a number of people before dismissing or accepting them into his acquaintance.

For the second time on that journey, the door banged open, this time a much larger form filled the portal. This boy was huskier, taller and older. He was all ready dressed in black robes; a shiny badge pinned on the left breast under an embroidered shield, which Remus assumed denoted a house affiliation. The new intruder's glare fixed on the raven-haired boys, ignoring him altogether.

"You two, you're to come with me immediately."

Sirius and James had glanced at each other, exchanging a quick nervous look. "Whatever for?" Sirius had asked, straightening in the seat and meeting the older boy's blue eyes.

"Because I'm a prefect," the unnamed boy replied, "and you were seen running from a compartment where, strangely enough, several dungbombs had been set off. You will come with me so that we can settle the matter of punishment when we arrive at Hogwarts." He looked down his stubby nose at the younger boys, clearly waiting for them to comply with his command.

James gulped, obviously uncomfortable with the idea that he was in trouble, perhaps fearing what his parents would say if he were sent home before he even began his education. Remus noted that Sirius still sat unmoving, seemingly unruffled at the possibility of being in trouble.

"That's impossible." All eyes turned toward him the moment the words escaped his mouth. He almost winced at their regard, wondering if he was making a mistake. But he tried to copy Sirius's demeanor, sitting straight and training his eyes on the knot in the prefect's tie, unable to meet his eye, but giving the appearance of doing so. "James and Sirius," he motioned to his companions sitting opposite him, "have been here since we left Platform 9&3/4. They couldn't have done what you're accusing them of since they've been right here talking about our summer and wondering what house we'll be sorted into."

He finished in a soft voice, almost hoarse from the effort of telling a lie, a practice completely foreign to him. The boy considered him for a moment before nodding. Either he was convincing enough, or the prefect really wasn't willing to make a scene by arguing the point. He nodded again briefly and left with a, "See that you stay out of trouble then," and was gone.

Silence settled over the group again, this time more companionable and much less tense. Then they all started talking at once.

"Thanks for covering for us," from James.

"Brilliant! Can't believe we got away with that!" was Sirius's contribution.

"Did you really set off dungbombs on the train?" Remus questioned.

* * *

The confusing tangle of words ended in laughter, and as simply as that, he had friends. Time and deeds would make them the best of friends, and they fully believed that nothing would change or destroy the bond forged between them over the years. 

They had changed his life drastically. His friendship with James and Sirius had always pushed him to be more, not different or other than he was, just better, making him rise to the occasion and believe he could be more, not just define himself as a werewolf. They'd egg him into participating in practical jokes, cajole him into helping research charms and spells which resulted in the creation of the Marauder's map, strategize more and more complex pranks, help him when it became apparent that he was mediocre at best in potions.

With them, life had ceased being an endless cycle of getting through the full moon every month, recovering from the self inflicted wounds only to start dreading the next time he'd transform. It became fun, a matter of fitting as much excitement and experience in between each lunar occurrence, making his excuses, then waiting to get out of the hospital wing as soon as possible to rejoin his friends and their escapades.

When they'd confronted him in second year, he'd been scared that they'd stop associating with him, but also relieved that they knew. He hated the subterfuge and lies every month to cover his noticeable absence. Any lingering doubts he'd had about the strength of their friendship disappeared in light of their acceptance, particularly after fielding a barrage of questions ranging from where he went every month to change to how long the actual transformation took, and even a few uncomfortably pointed questions about his scars and physical attributes while in his wolf form.

But they were gone now, leaving him alone again. Yet another one of life's unexpected twists, Peter, the traitor, being the last to join the group was the first to leave it, though they didn't know it at the time, too busy wondering about each other due to the rat's lies and misdirection. Lily and James, by all rights a couple who had the most to live for were the first to die, and survived only by little Harry, who had just started walking not two months before.

And then there was Sirius, whom the entire Wizarding world had condemned, falsely, as it turned out. Life had given him a temporary reprieve from loneliness three years ago by giving his friend back. Granted, he'd been altered from the carefree teen he used to be, but the charismatic personality was still there, buried in his skin. It would pop up at the oddest moments, much like his barking laugh, particularly when he'd had some sort of contact via floo or owl from Harry.

Losing Sirius a second time was a blow right to the midsection. He wasn't sure if, when, or how to recover from this new hole in his life. Before, his friend had been alive at Azkaban, but now he was dead, and there was no coming back from that. Sometimes he really wondered if life was worth it. He wasn't supposed to be the last one standing, the only one to carry on the memory. He felt as though someone on a cosmic level was getting a great laugh at his expense, and he really didn't like it.

Remus sighed, looking at the calendar. One week until the full moon. Life was full circle; he was back to merely getting through one full moon at a time. Snape would be bringing by the wolfsbane potion starting tomorrow per Dumbledore's order. It would signal a new depth to his misery, a few sarcastic remarks on his pathetic state and continued reliance on the headmaster's good will. And then he'd go through the torturous change, keeping his wits so that he could stew in his memories, alone, on the eve of the murder of the Potters. The pain of their absence had dulled over the years, but he suspected that this year was going to be particularly rough.

And then, the unexpected happened. There was tapping at the window, which was becoming much more insistent the longer he paused. The fact that there was tapping in the first place had thrown him for a bit of a loop, or perhaps that was the scotch he'd been drinking. He wasn't due for an owl from Hermione quite yet. She typically waited until after the full moon to send some sort of greeting, checking up after him, sending the occasional bar of chocolate as a joke since he'd spent a good portion of his time parting out Honeyduke's bars after students encountered the dementors.

Albus typically used the floo network, preferring a conversation in place of written word, occasionally stopping by for a cup of tea as time permitted. And anyone else who cared to speak to him waited for an order meeting to make his or her excuses for not staying in touch. In many ways, he preferred the depressing solitude to seeing pity in Molly and Arthur's eyes, enduring the stilted conversation from Tonks or Kingsley, or any offers of help that seemed too close to charity for him to feel comfortable in accepting.

The tapping was now punctuated by indignant squawks and hoots from the owl. Realizing that he had been wool gathering, he rushed to the window, lifting it open to allow the avian inside. The owl that settled on the back of his chair was none other than Harry's pet, Hedwig. If birds could glare, this one would be shooting daggers at him for making her wait. She extended her leg in a manner he would have deemed haughty, and was nipped on the finger before being allowed to untie the letter.

He scrabbled around, coming up with a stale biscuit to make his amends, then turned to the parchment in his hand. He quickly noted that the seal and writing were not Hermione's. Remus broke the wax and unfolded the note, seating himself back in his chair, eyes drinking in the words.

His first reaction was to smile, noticing the false start that had been crossed out. In the back of his mind, he wondered if Harry had chosen not to begin anew on fresh paper because it would have wasted nine inches of usable parchment, something Lily would have abhorred, or if he was in too much of a hurry to be put to the bother of hunting down a spare page, as was James's habit. Not for the first time did he see hints of Harry's parents in the Boy-Who-Lived, an interesting mix of both James and Lily.

Reaching the bottom of the note, he frowned thoughtfully. Whatever he might have been expecting, it hadn't been this. It was oddly touching, the sentiment more sincere in his eyes than all the murmured condolences of the past months combined. Not that there had been many due to the fact that most people still believed Sirius guilty, and those who knew of his death figured that he got what had been coming to him. It was a bitter tribute to a wronged man.

He reread the last lines, unable to shake the feeling that perhaps Harry was seeking his forgiveness, a benediction for his past rashness, as if he would or could hold the boy accountable for the events that night. He looked at the owl, "You mind waiting around for a reply?" He felt foolish talking to an owl, but figured it was courtesy if she was instructed to return directly. Hedwig hooted a response, dipping her head before ruffling up her feathers and pulling her head down to sleep.

Remus then turned his attention toward hunting up some paper in order to pen a response to Harry.

_To Young Harry,_

_Your letter was an unexpected surprise when it arrived this evening. A pleasant one despite the  
__obvious distress you are suffering from. Like you, I too find that I am having difficulty with our  
mutual loss of Sirius._

He paused, tapping his pen while trying to puzzle out his next thoughts to write. He didn't want to come across as formal and unapproachable, fearing that if he continued along in this direction, Harry would think him nothing less than an old man with a stick up his arse. He chuckled at the image, and then stopped in surprise. He hadn't had a reason to laugh in some time, and it sounded odd to his ears, which were accustom to silence when he was alone.

_You will have to extend my thanks to Hermione for her 'enthusiastic' encouragement that you write  
to me. I find that it has all ready helped in reminding me that I am not alone. I invite you to write as  
often as you like, without fear that I would fail to reply. I will, however, stipulate that you forego the  
title of 'Professor' as I am no longer teaching. And I will dissuade you from using Mr. Lupin as I am  
hardly a graybeard in my dotage whose only pleasure lies in taking upstart youngsters to task for their  
lack of proper formality. I leave that job to your Professor Snape. Remus will be fine, or Moony if you  
can bear to use it._

That was a bit better, he thought, surveying the paragraph, he'd even managed to get in a slight against Snape. He mentally had to hand it to Hermione for being observant as well as compassionate enough to realize he needed contact with Harry in some form, and likely recognized that her friend needed him as well. She was a very astute witch, to say the least.

_Please do not take this the wrong way Harry, but your guilt over Sirius is misplaced. Your godfather  
made his choices that fatal night, choosing action instead of waiting as he was advised to do, so  
that others might bring you safely back to Grimmauld and to him. He did not know what would  
happen that evening, any more than the others who were present, myself included, but he died  
protecting you, the same as he would have done for your parents or me if the need arose. These words  
may not help the feelings you have, but in time, I hope you will see the truth in them._

_Sirius was always a man of action, and his choice that night was true to his character. The fact that you  
went to the ministry to save him, meant quite a lot to him, and if nothing else, he knew that you cared  
for him before he died. I truly believe that both he, and your parents would have been proud of the  
loyalty and courage you had shown that night, willing to risk yourself for someone you loved. Of course,  
there would also be a stern lecture on your fool heartiness, but they would expect nothing less from  
a Gryffindor. _

_There was a connection between the two of you, you didn't imagine it, and it isn't weird for you to have  
felt close to him. When a witch or wizard agrees to be a godparent, documents are signed which connect  
the child and adult both legally and magically. Sirius took his duty and honor as your godfather quite  
seriously. James had often joked that it was the one thing he had not tried to skive off or be late for  
in his life. (Remind me to tell you about the wedding sometime, it's an amusing story, but it's place is  
not in this letter)_

_Never doubt the depths of the affection you held for him, nor his for you. Remember, the ones we care  
about are never truly gone as long as we remember them with love._

_Yours in Friendship,_

_Remus_

**

* * *

AN: As always, thanks to the brilliant ****BrennaM**, who stayed up far too late to post chapter 36 of her story. I appreciate the encouragement you keep giving me, as well as the maniacal laughter that never ceases to put a cheesy smile on my face, all the while cringing at your latest devilish plot twists… 

As always, thanks to the brilliant , who stayed up far too late to post chapter 36 of her story. I appreciate the encouragement you keep giving me, as well as the maniacal laughter that never ceases to put a cheesy smile on my face, all the while cringing at your latest devilish plot twists…

Thanks also to **Ashibabi** for checking the story out, I hope that you continue to enjoy it!  
Thanks to **Rane2920072** I'm glad that you love it, I hope I don't disappoint. In answer to your question about Sirius: When Hermione gets around to figuring out the mystery of the Veil. Not much of an answer, I know, but it will happen in good time, Hermione's got a road to travel in order to find Sirius.  
Thanks also to all the readers, even if you don't review. I hope that you think the story is worth the time to read it.

First topic for the "Get BrennaM for her Evil Cliffies" fan club: **_Would wet noodle beatings be a sufficient motivator to get BrennaM to post faster?_**


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **Still in the prologue, quick refresher: I don't own it!

**AN: **After the weekend I had, it seemed fitting to post this chapter. Ever had one of 'those' days? Hermione is, I fondly title this chapter "The Woes of Hermione". It's a bit out there, but I hope you enjoy regardless.

* * *

To say that her day was bad would be a gross understatement in her opinion. It could not have been any worse if Trelawny herself had predicted it and Voldemort had descended on the school to demand that Harry meet him in battle. Well, perhaps the Voldemort thing would make it worse, but short of that, this was her worst day in memory. By the time lunch had rolled around, Hermione was seriously questioning why she'd bothered to get out of bed at all. But her problem started with the fact that she never exactly made it to bed in the first place the night before.

* * *

Last night had been the full moon, which left Harry concerned over Remus, particularly since he had not heard back from the man, and Hedwig had yet to return from the trip to begin with. She'd told her friend that with the weather being somewhat blustery, it'd take the owl a good while to fly through the wind and rain, provided she didn't find somewhere dry to wait out the inclement weather in the first place. She'd also pointed out that Lupin could have been staying at his own home instead of Grimmauld, which was where Harry had directed the letter. The once stately, if slowly decaying, home was likely full of memories that he would want to escape. All that bit of logic had done was cause Harry to worry about his pet in addition to the werewolf. 

Eventually, he had put it out of his mind, and picked up a book on defensive spells and their applications, settling down to read, using her as a backrest. For her part, she'd been sprawled out on the floor, before being used as furniture, basking in the heat radiating from the fireplace. She was wearing a pair of oversized flannel pajamas nicked from her father over the summer, which she felt was the height of comfort as well as being a reminder of home. Her focus was on re-writing her transfiguration essay for the final time, then moved on to her translations for ancient runes, planning to recheck the Arithmancy equations that were due on the first of November.

Hermione hadn't made it past her third paragraph, translating some rubbish about Geraldine the Bearded who had managed to flick when she ought to have swished, resulting in the growth of a thick, furry beard, the likes of which would have made Hagrid envious. Much to Geraldine's dismay, the beard mishap topped the list of her accomplishments, and became the defining event of her lifetime.

She woke the next morning to the sound of Colin snickering with Rebecca, Pearl and Katherine. Head still muzzy with sleep, she tried to roll and stretch; only to realize she couldn't. Somehow, she'd become pinned under something that was considerably heavier than Crookshanks, and not nearly as soft. Hermione's eyes focused on the group who had disturbed her rest, angling her neck awkwardly and shooting, what she had hoped was, a quelling glare. The titters she received in response led her to believe that she had failed.

On the plus side, it went a long way toward identifying the reason she was still pinned to the floor. It turned out that Harry had fallen asleep in front of the fire, much as she had, using her as a pillow. He yawned and successfully executed a stretch, before sitting up and helping her to shift from belly to bum. For some reason beyond her recollection this early in the morning, this triggered another round of giggling. A bright flash rendered her blind for a few moments as black spots danced in her vision.

"Colin, that had better have been a botched lumos spell, because, so help me, if that was a camera, your brother is going to be the only Creevey left at Hogwarts!" she snarled. Her eyes started focusing as she blinked frequently, only to realize that the first three buttons weren't fastened on her top. And this knowledge turned her cheeks pink as she fumbled to re-button them. She wasn't showing much, but it was the principle of the matter.

She started to tally the morning's indignities in her mind:

First, she had a crick in her neck and an achy back from lying on the floor and being used as a human pillow all night long.

Second, the Gryffindor gossips, minus Lavender and Pavarti, had witnessed her waking in a somewhat compromising position. It wouldn't take long for the rumor mill to catch wind of this latest development.

Third, Colin had at least one photo of her, bleary eyed, disheveled and frizzy haired. Not one of her better moments to be sure. At least one could not see morning breath on film.

She cast her eyes about, looking for her homework, unable to find it.

Fourth, her schoolwork magically grew legs and walked off. An occurrence that wasn't unheard of in a magical school, but highly unlikely without some sort of help.

Fifth, she was dead tired still, which meant that she probably had gotten too much sleep.

One look at her friend, who she found to be grinning like a maniac, had her snapping out, "It's not funny Harry."

The others, who were in close vicinity, beat hasty retreats, recognizing a volatile mood when they heard one.

The Boy-Who-Lived was not so smart. "Why isn't it? Your hair is a right fright, and it's not often that someone takes you by surprise."

For some reason, this only served as a goad to her temper, and made her angrier. "This is your fault Harry Potter!"

"Wait, what? MY fault?"

"Yes, if you'd woken up like you normally do, then my sleep schedule wouldn't have been thrown off, not to mention that…"

His voice cut across hers, "So my not having a nightmare and getting a full night of some of the best sleep I've gotten in ages is a bad thing because of the inconvenience to YOU?"

"It's not YOUR social life that's going to be ruined if those pictures end up in circulation here at school!"

"What in the bloody hell are you on about?"

"Are you honestly so thick that you can't see?" she yelled in exasperation.

"See what? Maybe if you told me instead of flying off the handle like some silly bint, I'd understand."

"Bint? A bint am I? Oh that's rich coming from you Potter! I have better things to do besides argue with some naïve boy like you who can't fathom what gossip will come from this whole thing! I have to find my homework!" She spun on her heel and stalked up the stairs to the dorm, much like Crookshanks when he'd gotten his tail slammed in the portrait door a few weeks ago.

"Fine then Hermy!" he yelled up to her, "when you start being your rational self again, you let me know!" He felt no guilt in neglecting to tell her that Ron had asked Ginny to take her books up last night after she'd succumbed to sleep's pull. Harry went about preparing for a day without Hermione's company, which dampened his mood suitably before he went down to catch the end of breakfast. But it was her fault for verbally attacking him in the first place, so she was at fault, and she should apologize.

Hermione, on the other hand, added fighting with Harry as the sixth item on her list of things gone wrong for the day, knowing that Harry only referred to her has 'Hermy' when he felt she was acting like a troll. Loath to admit that there might be some truth in the sentiment, she instead opted for a shower, which would hopefully wake her up a bit more, and ease her backache if there was enough hot water left. But fate was against her this day, and she was left with a five-minute, lukewarm dash through the shower, and a tangle of hair that she could only hide by securing it in a sloppy bun. It was just another manifestation of her luck that she couldn't find her conditioner.

Glancing at the clock, she resisted the urge to swear, instead frantically trying to locate her essay for transfigurations, which incidentally, was her first class of the day. The best she had come up with was a prior draft that was stuck within her book on her bed. She stuffed it into her bag, running to make her class in time, wondering how her books had ended up in the dorm without her knowing.

Along the way, she debated between turning in what she had, though she felt it was inferior to the completed work of the previous night, or to explain to Professor McGonagall her situation and plead to hand it in later that day, which might lose her points on the paper for it's tardiness. That didn't even take into consideration that she still had a half-completed rune translation that was due tomorrow, waiting to be finished. And she just couldn't find it within herself to assume that her Arithmancy was correct without going over it at least once more. So, as much as she disliked the thought, she'd hand in the draft and hopefully not obsess over its lack of completeness for the remainder of the day.

She'd managed to slide into her seat with two minutes to spare, but still grumbling under her breath, mostly due to Filch docking house points for running in the hall. That incident made her tally grow to nine, behind her disappointing shower and missing breakfast. It was only two points, but it still upset her considerably more than it ought to have.

So when Ron started to talk to her, she growled at him, "What do you want Ron?"

He slid a parchment to her and muttered, "Harry was right. You're a grouch this morning. I was only trying to return your essay to you since you missed breakfast, and you nip my head off. How's that for gratitude, I ask you?"

"Hang on, _you_ took my essay?"

"Just borrowed it to see if I missed anything important on my own work, no harm done."

"No harm?" Her whispering became even more heated, "No harm, I've been going spare trying to find it! To the point of missing breakfast, and now my stomach hurts from growling, and you think no harm's been done?"

She snatched the scroll from the desk, shouldered her bag and changed seats, sitting next to Dean. He had overheard the heated exchange, and moved to her vacated spot, mumbling something to the effect of not wishing to sit next to someone with a temperament that rivaled that of a Norwegian Ridgeback.

Ten, she added as she and Ron weren't talking now. Or would it be nine since her essay was found and accounted for? Hermione decided to keep it as ten, figuring that her frantic searching was still a large contributor to her bad day.

Eleven hit as transfiguration came to a close for the morning. It dawned on her that her mood, the tiredness, and the persistent ache in her back and belly could only herald one thing. Since there was only ten minutes left in the class, she risked calling the Professor over to beg permission to leave early. Thankfully, most students were practicing the spell to change liquids into a solid form, so her conversation went unnoticed.

"Professor, I've all ready learned the charm, could I leave early please?"

"Miss Granger, I don't think it would be appropriate to…"

"PLEASE Professor." She shot the older witch an urgent look, "It's a personal matter that I MUST take care of, at least before it becomes obvious to others."

McGonagall narrowed her eyes, gauging whether Hermione was being truthful, then realized it was Hermione, and nodded her permission. "The best of us forget sometimes. Do not make this a habit, Miss Granger. And leave your essay with me. The homework is to read the next two chapters and be prepared for a discussion on the principals of both methods as well as comparing and contrasting which method is more practical under a variety of circumstances. You are excused."

"Thank you," she breathed, fishing out her essay, the final draft, then ducked out the door as fast as dignity would permit her.

The day, she thought, just kept getting better. How could she have forgotten about her monthly? It happened like clockwork for the past year and a half. And now she would have to figure out a way to apologize to both Harry and Ron for being so irrational without going into detail as to why, which meant that she wouldn't live the moment down for some time. But if they did crow over her lack of reason, she'd kill them. She'd read somewhere in a newspaper that a woman had been found non-guilty for murdering a boyfriend by using PMS as her defense.

* * *

She was still in the ladies when class let out. She was grateful for the extra time those minutes had afforded her since it was necessary to cast a cleaning charm on her knickers and her skirt. Mortifying, to say the least. 

She was about to exit the cubicle, when she heard what sounded like a henhouse worth of females enter, and her ears caught her name being tossed about in the current discussion.

"Hermione has denied dating him, so he's fair game."

"She says she's not, but do you ever see them apart?" this was followed by laughter.

She then heard a toilet flush, then a mirth-filled giggle. "Merlin, she's probably too smart to 'date' him, the Mudblood is probably just shagging him for the time being." This was, Hermione knew, Pansy Parkinson.

"I hardly think she'd be doing that without some form of relationship first." Hermione identified Hannah Abbot, and was feeling quite pleased with the girl's logic until she followed up with, "They are probably just keeping it a secret because of all the publicity about her and Krum in fourth year. Why would they want to be subject to such nasty journalism, wouldn't it mar the romance?"

"You really do belong in Hufflepuff, you know that don't you? She's shagging him, at least until he gets himself killed by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, then she'll get on top of whatever bloke'll have her. She'd be a fool not to entertain Potter's attentions, he's famous, but she will have to move on eventually." Hermione clenched her fist, wanting to drive it into the pug's face, but also wondering if Hannah would continue to defend her.

"She'd wait until she was in…"

"A relationship? What would Little-Miss-Know-It-All-Granger say? It's all a matter of semantics." Pansy was using a mocking tone that in no way resembled her voice. "Harry and I are friends, and by virtue of that _relationship_, I have no qualms about shagging him. That makes us 'friends with benefits'." She cackled snidely.

"Pansy has a point." This came from someone Hermione knew was in Ravenclaw, but couldn't place a name or face to. "Relationship is only a word. Besides, Cho said that Harry had an unnatural fixation with her, and that was before Pearl and Tricia told Luna, who mentioned to Padma, who told me that they fell asleep in front of the common room fire, AND that half of Hermione's buttons were opened. Look at the evidence, it's only logical that something is going on."

"Look, we have to get to class, otherwise Pansy and I are going to be late for Care of Magical Creatures with the Oaf." This bit of logic came from Millicent, whose voice was low enough in tone to nearly pass for a boy. The sounds of the girls filing out clued Hermione to the fact that it was safe to leave, and that she was running late for class, which she had with the Slytherins.

How was she going to face them without putting her fist in Pansy's face? She wasn't sure which was worse, the implication that she was an opportunistic slut or that the Slytherins were aware of her rude awakening this morning. And that didn't even touch on the comment Pansy made regarding Harry and Voldemort. By now, it was fair to say, she was itching for a fight.

Hermione washed her hands and face, noting the frown, and the clenched jaw reflected back at her from the mirror. She pulled out her wand and cast a cheering charm, strong enough to ease the sign of stress from her face without having her smiling like a demented clown. This moment was officially number twelve on her List of Woes.

* * *

Lucky number thirteen wasn't too far behind her mad dash to Hagrid's hut. Again, she'd made it just in time, but very out of breath, and a bit sore, as her bra was not offering adequate support for the sprint from the castle. Instead of standing with Ron and Harry, she opted to stand slightly apart, near the Forbidden forest, but still within listening range. 

They were studying salamanders that week, observing and feeding them before Hagrid was due to harvest the blood for one of Professor Snape's advanced potions classes. Being the odd person out, and distanced enough from her fellow Gryffindors, she found herself partnered with an extremely unwilling Draco Malfoy. The expected 'Mudblood' remarks were uttered, followed by an, "I can only imagine what my father would say about this."

She ignored the mudblood insults, as they were fairly common and lacking in originality by now, but couldn't stop herself from retorting about his father. "Look Ferret, if you spend all your time waiting on daddy's approval and whim, you're never going to be much of a man. In fact, you'll be a perfect death eater, since that's all Voldemort wants his followers to do. Don't bother learning to think for yourself, it'll save you the pain of having him crucio you to break the habit."

They worked in silence from that point on, alternating turns between feeding peppercorns to their scarlet salamander and scratching notes out onto parchment. She'd just tossed a peppercorn into the cage when she was nudged. Her hand brushed the caged creature, scorching the tips of her fingers. "Malfoy, knock it off."

For once, the Malfoy heir actually looked innocent as she glared at him. It happened again, this time from her right, and clearly not his doing. She looked, unable to spot the source and felt confused. "What the..?"

Her unwitting partner looked up and seemingly spotted the disturbance. "You can't see them? Surprising since you spend so much time with Scarhead. Maybe when the Dark Lord gets him…"

"Shut-up Malfoy." She hissed, her mind making a connection, even has her comment drew unwanted attention. She couldn't see them, but she was being shoved around…because she was bleeding! Blood called them. Of all the misfortunes befalling her today, and now this, and then the great blond prat opened his mouth again, speaking loud enough for half the class to hear:

"Looks like Mudblood is dirtier than usual today. What's the matter, bleeding like a stuck pig? Who poked you Granger? Rumor has it that Saint Potter did the deed." He leered at her, smirking as her face flushed as red as their salamander.

For some reason, her cheering charm from the bathroom ceased working at that moment, and she saw red. She also heard the vicious laughter from a number of Slytherins who had overheard Draco's remarks. She didn't give much thought to her actions, and before she knew it, he was on the ground, blood streaming from his nose, and her knuckles stinging. No wonder he had Crabbe and Goyle do the physical work, that had hurt!

Now her dilemma was whether to run for the castle in embarrassment, or to the Forbidden Forest and let the beasts in it finish her off. This was, by far, the worst day she'd ever had to live through. She opted for the castle, brushing past both Ron and Harry who looked like they wanted to ask her why she socked Malfoy in his pretty-boy face. She didn't want to re-live the past few moments however, and kept running.

* * *

Harry watched his friend run past. Her face was red, and the beginnings of tears were bright in her eyes. He hadn't seen her cry since fifth year, right around OWLs. From what he could gather, she'd just landed a punch he would have paid to see up close and personally, yet she was crying. Surely it wasn't because of the ten points Hagrid docked, he had, after all, docked Slytherin twice as much for Malfoy instigating the situation. It was only a matter of minutes until the class was dismissed as Draco was escorted to the infirmary to have his nose fixed. 

Then he heard Pansy laughing about Mudblood and her period, followed by Theodore Nott's speculation on some picture that Creevey had taken this morning. And it clicked, not as quickly as Hermione would have pieced it together, but he figured it out. The thestrals had been attracted by Hermione and her feminine odors. He was one of only five to see them today, the others being Hagrid, Neville, Nott and, oddly enough, Malfoy. Who had Malfoy seen die? But he pushed that mystery to the side, in favor of concern for his friend.

Small wonder that she was upset this morning. Ron had shared horror stories of Ginny's hormonally driven rampages during 'that time', and now the Slytherins knew such a personal bit of information about Hermione. Suddenly her going nutters over a stupid picture made sense. He'd just heard Nott imagining the state of undress his friend had been in, hadn't he? He really was naïve.

"Ron, what do you do when Ginny's having 'that time'?" He asked on the way back to the castle.

His friend looked at him as though he'd grown another head. "Besides hide?"

Harry smiled, "Yeah, there's got to be something that your mum does…" he trailed off.

"Umm, chocolate, and heating charms for the cramps." He replied, turning a bit green at the thought of 'girl problems'.

"Okay, your job is to get the charm from your sister at lunch."

"Why in the bloody hell would I do that?

"Hermione," Harry didn't feel the need to elaborate.

"Why would I do that when she nearly took my head off?" Ron sputtered.

"That's why she did, she's having a very bad day. How did you feel when the Slytherins sang their version of 'Weasley is our king'? They have something much more personal than an inability to block a quaffle to torment her with, not to mention some stuff that's completely wrong, and one of the more popular tales of the school."

"Nothing is as bad as having Malfoy make up a song about not being able to block a quaffle." He huffed a sigh at Harry's rolled eyes. "Oh fine, I'll do it. What are you doing then?"

"Quick trip to Honeyduke's courtesy of Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs, not to mention a little talk with Colin."

* * *

He missed History of Magic, but had several bars of chocolate ranging from white to special dark, and a bonus of six bottles of butterbeer, due to a side trip to the Three Broomsticks. It would be worth if it he could make Hermione feel better. 

He'd even managed to catch Colin before dinner, paying five galleons to the fifth year for a copy of the pictures, the negatives, and a promise that no one else would see a hint of the photos taken. He'd also dissuaded the boy from taking any other photos implicating that he hand Hermione were in a relationship unless he had their express permission. He made a deal with the oldest Creevey about supplies for the developing potions required to make ordinary photos move, which was the only incentive he'd been given by the forth years to take the pictures in the first place.

To his dismay, Colin had agreed with an, "Anything for you Harry," that reminded him eerily of Dobby the house elf.

He met Ron for dinner, scanning the table for the honey-brown mop of hair, which was conspicuously missing. "Did she have lunch?"  
"No, but Dobby said she came down for some cocoa and biscuits when I checked the kitchens."

"Did she show up for History?" Harry questioned.

"Five minutes late, not that Binns would have noticed. She sat in the back and ducked out before class was over. She was in her corner of the library up until I came for dinner, but I don't think she'll show. Oh, and Hedwig is back. This was delivered for you."

Harry turned the sealed missive over in his hands. It was addressed to 'Young Harry', and had to be from Lupin. He started loading his plate, planning to find Hermione and drag her to the common room. Fight or not, embarrassment or not, he needed her to be with him when he read this. If it was rejection, he'd need her strength, if it were otherwise, he wanted to share it with her.

"Did you get the charm from Ginny?"

"Yeah, here," Ron pulled a paper from his pocket, passing it to Harry, feeling a bit odd while doing so.

Harry thanked his dorm-mate, took his laden plate, and headed to the Gryffindor tower. To his surprise, Hermione was there, looking absolutely miserable, as if she hadn't a single friend in the world. She looked up at his entrance, and then stood, preparing to leave.

"Hermione, no…sit. Don't leave."

Her eyes watered, "Harry, I…I'm sorry." She began.

"I know Hermione, it's okay. I understand." He shoved the plate at her. "Ron said that you didn't show up for lunch, and I know you weren't at breakfast or dinner. You need to eat."

"Yeah, well, you skived off History of Magic." She accused.

"And you were late. Anyway, it was for a good cause, trust me." He said.

"It's never good to…"

"Hermione, leave off the worrying about me. Come upstairs where the gossips won't find you and talk. I promise that Seamus won't say a word to Lavender later…"

She grabbed the plate, weary of any surprises in store for her. She'd had enough unexpected unpleasantness all ready. But she was pleasantly surprised by the bottle of butterbeer shoved in her hand, and even more so when Harry upended a bag of chocolate onto the bed with a, "Pick your poison."

She didn't need any further urging, and snatched up a bar of milk chocolate. She unwrapped it and took a bite, moaning in pure bliss. Harry cast the charm Ron passed to him earlier, mentioning that, "it worked for Ginny," before smiling sheepishly. "This morning's pictures have also been handled. The only person who will see them is me…well, me and Colin when he develops them, but I've arranged for the negatives and discouraged a repeat of this mornings attempt at photo journalism."

And once again, Hermione found her eyes watering, "Thank you, sorry, over-emotional, but thank you!" she laughed in a way that sounded more like gasping and wiped at her eyes. "You have no idea what I heard today," she sobbed.

"I'm afraid to ask if it put you in this state." He replied, which oddly enough caused her to giggle a little. "I got a letter from Lupin, I think."

"You think?"

"Well, I haven't opened it yet."

"Why ever not?"

"I was a bit more concerned with being here for you."

"You've been here for me, now open the letter!"

"You just want to know what it says."

"Yep."

"Know-It-All."

"Yep."

* * *

Reviews: Thanks to all the readers of course, reviews or not! 

BrennaM- I'll be sure to stock fluffy pillows with pointy corners just so that you'll be shaking in your boots! And so help me, I'll dig out the bag of stale marshmallows to throw at you should you actually carry through on a review with an evil cliffie! I love Remus too, and I have a feeling that Harry will find some camaraderie with our werewolf as time goes on. And I agree that Remus is much more suitable in the parental role as compared with Sirius. What in the world were Lily and James thinking anyway? Heheheh…

Rane2920072- Yeah, I get the pleasure of writing about Draco and Hermione and their…erm…relationship. Hopefully I'll be able to do it justice when the time comes. I'm glad you liked the chapter.

xxx-kisses-xxx- blush Brenna's the brilliant one; it was her story that sparked my imagination, that and the fact that I was too impatient to wait for her to finish the first story before getting to the prequel. I'm glad that you think they mesh, that's ultimately what I'm going for. I was a bit nervous about writing Remus cause I like his character a lot even though we don't see him much in JKR's books. I hope I continue to do the character's justice as the story progresses. Oh, and welcome aboard the "Get BrennaM" fan club!

Ashibabi- Thanks! Yeah, I guess a letter like that would be a bit daunting, but I'm thinking that it's more the formal tone that's a bit off-putting. Harry will understand the parts that are most important to him, and eventually we'll move on from the "woe is Harry" to the "what is our near-death adventure for this year" in the story line. Ohhh… Blunt sporks! Great idea!

Raspberri13- I'm glad you think so... Thanks for reviewing!

I'll probably post Chapter 5 in the next couple of days as it continues where this chapter left off.


	6. Chapter 5

**AN:** Chronically late these days, I'm sorry as I meant to post this on Friday. Life caught up to me and gave me the royal smack down, but I've pulled myself back up again and hopefully will be back on task this week. Thank you to BrennaM as always, as well as xxx-kisses-xxx, Rane2920072, and Raspberri13, I promise I'll do better thank you's next chapter.

* * *

Harry held the letter in his hands, drawing out the moment, partly dreading some written set down for presuming to impose on a man's private grief. The other part, which oddly enough sounded like Hermione, pointed out that Remus Lupin was not the sort of man to be unnecessarily cruel, and worse case scenario, he would be distantly polite with a short missive. Lastly, there was an insistent voice that kept repeating, "Hurry up, open it." It took him a moment to realize that it actually was Hermione, eager to hear what their ex-professor had to say. She was eyeing the letter nearly as fervently as the chocolate littering his bed. 

Taking a breath, he opened it and read the contents. A second time, his eyes scanned the words, and then a third, in disbelief, lingering over two lines in particular:

…_I truly believe that both he, and your parents would have been proud of the loyalty and courage you had shown…_

…_Never doubt the depths of the affection you held for him, nor his for you…_

He allowed his lids to fall, savoring the warm sensation of acceptance that came from having read conformation that his godfather had cared for him, that his parents likely would have been proud. It was a bittersweet joy, much like seeing the generations of his family in the Mirror of Erised, to know, yet never really feel or witness firsthand.

There was the familiar prickle of tears behind his lids, which he tried to fight. Why were some of his happiest feelings tied up with pain? He'd cried so much over the past weeks and months, alone, with Ron, with Hermione, with Ginny. When was he going to be done? He dragged the sleeve of his robe across his nose, a disgusting, but effective habit to be sure, trying to battle the inevitable onslaught.

Harry barely noticed when Hermione plucked the letter from his hands, replacing it with a handkerchief that she found, Merlin only knew where. It took her less than a minute, she'd always been a fast reader, before she put it down and scooted on the bed to sit next to him.

"I do believe Professor Lupin has a touch of the Irish poet in him," she observed.

He couldn't help but give a watery laugh, thinking that his friend had a penchant for absurd statements at times. "He…" Harry twisted his head to look at his friend. "It's not my fault," he said, letting the tears fall, a mix of comprehension, pain and relief. "At least not like I have been thinking…"

"No, it's not your fault," she confirmed. Her eyes shimmered in response, adding to the effect of pooling chocolate in her eyes. Hermione slung an arm around his shoulders, letting him vent for a few moments, to exorcize the demons that had been chasing him in his conscience.

He finally collected himself, wiping his eyes, blowing his nose, feeling cleansed of the burden weighing in his mind. "Feel like a right berk, crying all the time you know…"

"Don't take this the wrong way, but you kind of are. Not for crying or anything…" she assured him, "but I've spent all this time telling you that you weren't to blame, and you never believed me. I'm not sure if I should be happy because Lupin has gotten through to you, or mad because it only took one letter from him for you to see reason, and I've been here for months trying to get you to see the same thing."

"You'll be happy for me, especially since you get to say 'I told you so', and I know how much you enjoy that."

"I most certainly…"

He interrupted her, "DO! Remember the Firebolt, and when Sirius owled that he had ordered it for me?" There was still a shadow of pain, but nowhere near the crushing wave of emotion that typically emerged at the memory of the man over the past months.

"I was in third year then…"

"And you still like to say it as much now as you did then. I'll even do the unthinkable and admit that you were right."

"Which takes half the fun out of an 'I told you so'. Oh so big of you Potter." She growled.

"Yes, well, that's the kind of guy I am after all…"

"If you were any kind of guy at all, you'd grab Ron and shove Malfoy off the astronomy tower and make Ron's prediction real."

A snort came from the doorway, "Nah, we're going to stand back and watch you do it Herm." Ron walked over and leaned on the bedpost.

She laughed, "Do I have to do all the work Ron? I already punched him, losing ten points for my efforts."

"It was worth it though," Harry pointed out. "You broke his nose after all."

"And we got out of class early, that's always good." Ron added.

"Honestly, can you be any more juvenile?"

"That's a mite hypocritical of you. You can't encourage us to shove him off the tower but take us to task for enjoying the physical pain _you_ put him in."

"Nor can you attack me and Ron for being grateful for a shorter class when you've ducked out of yours early all day!" Harry defended.

"Fine, FINE!" Hermione exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. "I know I'm not going to win this one. It's been a bad day." She snatched up a bar of chocolate. "Probably give myself a half dozen cavities by eating this to top off my day. I can hear my mum now…" She took a bite, waving an envious Ron over. "I'm sure Harry wouldn't mind if you had some." She looked at her bespeckled friend for confirmation.

"Bloody well better not since I got the heating charm from Ginny…"

"Language Ron… And thank you. I am sorry that I acted like a harpy, even though you shouldn't have taken my essay in the first place."

"I accept your apology, you can't help it considering what's wrong with you anyway," he replied while tugging on a lock of her hair.

Hermione glared at him, trying to decide if she should brain him with a pillow or let him live with a nasty hexing, then realized he was joking. "The only thing wrong is the current rumor mill grist." She said, changing the subject. "Is Ginny back from dinner?"

Ron shrugged, then got up and yelled out the dormitory entrance, "OY! Ginny!" There was some form of reply and eventually a second redhead joined their group.

"What's up?" Ginny asked, helping herself to a butterbeer and half of Hermione's chocolate.

"Aside from the fact I can't show my face tomorrow because of Malfoy," Hermione started, her face turning red as she frowned.

The youngest Weasley waved her off. "That'll blow over inside a week. Most of the girls, except for the Slytherins of course, won't laugh or anything, everyone's had some sort of embarrassment when it comes to monthlies."

"GINNY!" Harry and Ron were looking anywhere but at the girls, both faces flushed with color.

"What? It's true, Charlie walked in on me this summer… Anyway, as you can see, the male half of the population is just as embarrassed about the subject as you are. Some of the first and second years will snicker, but it will blow over if you don't make a big deal over it. And besides, most people can't even see thestrals. D'you really think they are going to listen to Malfoy?"

She groaned and hung her head, cinnamon hair shrouding her rosy cheeks, affording her privacy from the other three for a few moments. "Why wouldn't they? They believe Pansy." Hermione forced herself to related the prattle she'd overheard in the loo that morning. "It has to stop, I can't stand people thinking those kinds of things about me."

"Well, the answer is clear, you just have to start seeing someone." Ron announced.

"Oh sure, just like that… I'll just ask the next guy I run across if he'd fancy a bit of a snog, shall I?" Hermione quipped, sarcasm heavy in her voice.

"He didn't mean that Herm, it's just that you've never shown any interest in anyone since the Yule Ball and Victor, outside of helping Neville with potions, and spending time with Ron and Harry, what did you expect people to think?" Ginny pointed out.

"Victor is an intelligent man…"

This elicited a snide sort of snort from Ron, "I'm sure you and Vicky had loads to talk about, him being a Quidditch star and all…"

"Merlin Ron, don't start this again. Victor is one of the few wizards I could have a real conversation with, and these days, we don't even do that! I'm lucky if he owls me once a month. Don't know why you get so worked up over it when it's not like you have any interest in me anyway."

"Well how would you know? Maybe if I knew I wasn't going to be nagged about schoolwork or SPEW, I'd ask you to go to bloody Hogsmeade with me." Despite the fact that he was just short of yelling, he was surprised to find that it was the truth.

"And maybe if I was guaranteed intelligent conversation that didn't revolve around Quidditch and dungbombs, I'd consider accepting!" Both Hermione and Ron looked taken aback by her statement. She kicked herself mentally for not considering the words before they came out of her mouth. Ron Weasley had the power to make her so angry that she'd abandon level headedness in favor of snapping out a quick retort.

"I suppose that's one way to make a date," Harry commented dryly, which served to set Ginny off into a fit of giggles.

"I never agreed to go, I just said I'd _consider_," Hermione huffed at her friends. "Besides, Ron wasn't serious, were you?" At least, she was pretty sure he didn't mean it.

"And why not? What's wrong with going on a date with me?"

"N-nothing, it's just that…"

"Think about it 'Mione," Ginny chimed in, "it could go a long way to squashing the rumors about you and Harry…"

"Fine, I'll _think_ about it. Too much has happened to me today to agree or refuse anything." She yawned. "And on that note, I'm going to bed. Ginny, would you walk me down so that I'm at least spared the speculation that I was up here alone with the boys?"

The other girl complied, trekking down the stairs with Hermione. "You could at least get them off the notion of you and Harry, and on to you and Ron if you did go to Hogsmeade. Nobody's asking you to marry Ron after all…"

"The problem is that I don't want anyone having notions about me and _anyone_ in the first place!" she hissed, keeping her voice low to prevent being overheard.

"Bit late for that, don't you think?"

"If the female gender, as a whole, weren't such a fluff-headed lot, I wouldn't be in this position in the first place."

Ginny rolled her eyes, "No, actually, if you dated occasionally, you wouldn't be in this position."

"Not like anyone's been scrambling to spend time with me. And nobody's really caught my fancy anyway…"

"Are you interested in witches instead of wizards Hermione?" Ginny looked a little uncomfortable asking.

"No, a-at least I don't think so… Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against homosexuality, but I prefer guys."

"Well that's good," the redhead egged her on by letting a note of disbelief enter the statement.

"I think loads of guys are cute, really" Hermione responded a trifle more vehemently than necessary.

"Like who?" Ginny challenged.

"Bill, for one."

"My brother?" was the squeaked response.

She giggled a little, "Yeah, and Charlie. You get him going about Norwegian Ridgebacks and Welsh greens, and his eyes take on this gleam, and waves his hands around, and they're so big and strong looking…"

"Those are my brothers!" Ginny protested, half disgusted.

"So? They are still guys, even if you don't appreciate them as such. Ummm… Who else? I had a crush on Lupin in third year…"

"So far, you've shown a fascination with Weasley men and Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers, though I notice that you left Lockhart out. There is something wrong with you!"

By this time, they'd made it to the sixth year dorms, and continued the conversation on Hermione's bed. "Lockhart doesn't count, it was second year. And there is nothing wrong with me! I just like strong men with a bit of intelligence behind the looks. It's all moot anyway since it's all hormones, and none of them would look twice at me anyway."

"Lupin's not exactly what I'd call strong."

"Ginny, the man changes into a werewolf once a month. It's very painful, and that takes a special kind of strength to endure time and again, you forget that the Wolfsbane potion was only recently discovered, and that still doesn't affect the pain of the transformation." Hermione defended, "Which reminds me that I need to write to him."

Ginny grunted her concession of the point, "Do you even look at anyone in our age bracket?"

Hermione paused to think about it, fidgeting at the reaction her next words would probably cause. "Don't tell the boys, but if it weren't for the fact that Malfoy acts like such a bloody bastard, I'd actually consider him rather cute." She was surprised when her friend nodded agreement.

"What? I'm not blind, but he is a git for all the looks. Anyone else?"

"Nobody comes to mind. In fact, I should say this now, just to prevent problems later. Don't get your hopes up about Ron and me okay? I'll most likely go on the date, but it probably won't work out beyond that."

"You're predicting failure before you even go out with him, that sounds suspiciously like quitting…" Ginny accused.

"Leave the predictions to the divination fanatics, I prefer to think of it as being realistic. I care very much for Ron, and you and Harry for that matter, but I can't see myself with him, we are too different. Those differences are good when it comes to friendship, but for more than that? I don't know, it's just a feeling I have; almost like I'm waiting for someone…" she trailed off uncertainly.

"You know what I think? I think you spend entirely too much time over analyzing things and not enough time having fun."

Hermione sighed, "Probably right Gin, but if you tell anyone I just admitted to it, I'll… Oh, I'm too tired to come up with a threat, just don't tell anyone!"

"Nobody would believe me anyway, no worries…Goodnight."


	7. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **Don't own Harry Potter in any way, shape or form.

**AN:** Thank you to BrennaM as always; hope your internet is fixed up. We (the 'Get BrennaM' fan club) expect a new chapter soon! Sporks have been prepared for your torture should you fail to comply!

Thanks also to **Raspberri13** and **Rane2920072** for your reviews, they mean a lot to me. I hope you continue to enjoy the story.

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Defense Against the Dark Arts had slowly become a position that the Headmaster of Hogwarts dreaded even thinking about as the years went on. Since the arrival of one Boy-Who-Lived, he was having the most difficult time retaining a competent Professor in that role. He was to the point of nearly admitting that the post was indeed as cursed as the students believed, save that he had no recollection of such a thing occurring before. Cursed rooms and buildings, yes, cursed people, frequently, cursed items, certainly, but a curse being attached to something as intangible as the title of a school professor, unheard of. Never the less, it had fallen to him, over the summer, to select yet another hapless soul for the position, and pray, once again, that this one would last at least the year, if not longer. 

Albus Dumbledore had searched through a swarm of applications that had survived screening by the Ministry of Magic and the Board of Governors to find this latest installment to the Defense position. The person he settled on, Professor Eugina Pinderton, was by all accounts sufficiently qualified to teach the class, and looked as though she might be the first teacher in several years to maintain it for the duration.

Her appearance was average, not tall, nor short. Thin, without being wiry, and methodical in dress without giving off an air of obsessive compulsiveness or eccentricity. Her robes were a similar version of he student uniform, minus house affiliation, and worn daily, without fail. Her hair was always twisted into a sleek knot, making it difficult to discern if her hair was dark blonde or light brown. One often had the same difficulty in describing her eyes, round, open and honest, but were they blue, or were they green? Eugina was simply one of those people that could disappear in a crowd without a trace, being that unremarkable in appearance and manner.

She had immaculate references from her prior position at the Portland Wizarding Institute in the United States where she had taught defensive magics for the past twelve years. Indeed, Dumbledore remembered her as a steadfast Hufflepuff when she had been a student at Hogwarts. He had been sorry to lose her as a student when her family transferred across the Atlantic, but he was always a little regretful when his students moved on during the school year. A thorough background check by the Board had revealed no ties with Dark Arts or connection to Voldemort and his followers, which was a relief. His own interview with her was comfortable and he sensed no hidden secrets that would be detrimental to her employment and affiliation with the school. She was a pleasant witch, fit in seamlessly with the majority of the staff, and barring any students wishing to follow in the mischievous footsteps of the Weasley twins, she would be able to handle anything her classes could throw at her.

* * *

Why this position had seemed like a good idea was beyond her comprehension at times. In all honesty, she had felt nostalgic for the land of her birth, never quite losing her British accent in all the years in America. And then there was the fact that the youth were increasingly more disturbing in the 'New World', the lines between witches and wizards mingling with the muggle world until robes were eschewed in favor of the tighter, shorter, more revealing form of muggle dress. The language those students used was horrid. Yes, she was grateful to receive an offer from Hogwarts, to move back to a place where people were more reserved, and a teacher did not have to worry as much about the violent nature of students increasing in the school. 

It had been like coming home, to see girls who wore pleated skirts down to the knee, proper socks covering calves or tights in the cooler weather, boys wearing slacks with shined dress shoes, or unobtrusive trainers, both genders wearing oxford shirts buttoned properly, ties, and the shrouding layer of school robes. Here, compact disk players were not in evidence during classes, nor were pagers the latest fad. Here, students were isolated in order to study, to learn and absorb knowledge. Perhaps that made her old fashioned and behind the times, but she preferred to consider it a sign of her civilized upbringing.

It had come as a different sort of shock to find that some of her classes were dreadfully behind the mark. Not nearly so bad as the American heathens she had taught, but not up to the standard that she would have expected from Hogwarts. All told, she could understand the deficiency, pinpointing the cause to the employment of one Gilderoy Lockhart and one Dolores Umbridge. Near as she could tell, both Professors preferred to focus on theory through book learning and lectures, but offered very little hands-on application, which meant that many students would not have the proper wand movements or pronunciation internalized should they actually need to protect themselves. Hopefully they would never need to use such measures, but for the few who desired employment in magical enforcement, she had her job cut out for her. But she felt she was up for the task, and she was never one to shirk unanticipated difficulty.

Eugina surveyed her current class with a mixture of frustration and dismay. Of all the years she had worked with over the past two months, it was the sixth years that perplexed her the most. For this block of time, she was attempting to teach a mid-level shielding spell to her mixed class of Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors. The spell was simple enough, 'strepho', which ought to have dissipated whatever minor hex or jinx hit the shield. She had lectured on its ability to withstand several attacks before collapsing, when properly cast.

For the most part, this was the case, as half the students would cast the charm to block their partner's jinx. She circled the room, correcting a few students in the requisite wand snap, countering a hex that had not been blocked in time, complementing others in the successful casting of not only the shield charm, but well executed hexes. But there was one grouping, consisting of Potter, Granger and Weasley, seemed to be ignoring the lesson for the day. It appeared, from her vantage from across the room, that they had employed a different charm, and were ricocheting a jinx back and forth between the three of them. Rather than create a scene by deducting house points, she'd chosen to split them up, pairing Potter with Macmillan, Weasley with Finch-Fletchley, and Granger with Longbottom, reminding them that it was the 'strepho' shield that they were to be practicing.

She ignored the rolled eyes and silent 'we know' that Miss Granger mouthed, staying long enough to watch Ron cast a leg locker jinx for Justin to block before turning to observe the other students in the room. Before she'd managed to walk ten steps away, she heard a "Professor?" and turned to find Longbottom on the ground, petrified, and watched as Harry cast a tarantallegra that should have been absorbed by Ernie's shield, but instead shattered it and hit the unsuspecting boy, causing him to tap dance until Hermione cast a quick 'finite incantatum.'

She watched Granger repeat the spell on her partner, helping Neville off the floor laughing at his sheepish remark that he hadn't expected to suffer that particular hex from her hand ever again. Again, she watched the group, witnessing Neville's own hex as he cast it in Hermione's direction. The girl flicked her wand, almost carelessly, enunciating the word in an exact manner. Eugina waited expectantly for the spell to become absorbed, and was surprised when it bounced off, narrowly missing the boy as he dodged.

Eugina Pinderton fought with her irritation, recognizing it as an unprofessional emotion to indulge in during class time. This was a clear illustration of why the sixth years were so difficult for her to educate. There were three distinct levels of students within the year. First were the students that only had the reading and theory memorized, most of the Slytherin house fell under this category, as well as many of the Ravenclaws and a few Hufflepuffs. Second were those who had some skill with the wand movements, and typically managed to pick up the new lessons fairly quickly, the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs along with a handful of Ravenclaws comprised this grouping. And then there was the last group, which comprised of three students-Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley.

For the other two groups, it was a matter of ensuring that they learned enough over the course of this current year and next year in order to be prepared to take their NEWTs if not pass them. But this last group was a challenge. Her vexation this day stemmed by the knowledge that 'strepho' in it's strongest form was originally intended to bounce spells away from the target, a fact that Hermione was likely aware of. She hadn't expected them to display enough power to invoke that particular quality of the spell. What was worse, today's lesson was not the first that odd occurrences cropped up in, which indicated that she should have been expecting such an event. She remembered other instances, spells more powerful than a 16 year old should be able to cast, effects that did not fade within the proscribed times, material that seemed as though it were merely a matter of revision instead of new knowledge. Unfortunately, the Headmaster had been closemouthed on any extenuating circumstances that would have resulted in such abilities.

She sighed, and regrouped the trio again, recognizing that the three outstripped their peers in skill and power, and were only challenged by working with and against each other. She noted that the other students tended to give the group a wide berth, wary of being hit by an errant spell should one of them ricochet outside of their control. Eugina turned back to her class while musing on the headache the three presented, almost wishing that she didn't have to teach them at all.

As an educator, she would be foolish not to realize that they all exhibited some form of power that set them apart from their peers. With Harry, it was hardly unexpected, he obviously was a powerful wizard if half the stories told by staff and students alike were true. And that was in addition to the notoriety of being the Boy-Who-Lived. But for the fame and power, he struck her as a fairly subdued and unassuming boy, no matter what Professor Snape said. Ron, she was sure, had the gift of strategy. She had observed him waiting for the most opportune moment before striking many times during class, but he lacked the desire to apply himself unless he was keeping up with his friends. Luckily his friends were definitely above par, which kept him motivated.

Which left Hermione Granger. She could not help but wonder if the sorting hat had made a mistake on the day Hermione was sorted. Hermione was definitely a candidate for Ravenclaw. Hermione Granger was to her what Harry Potter was to her colleague, Severus Snape. Eugina tried to be fair with but could not help but be annoyed by the young woman. The girl had all the answers, a veritable prodigy, which was a blow to Pinderton's pride at times, and asked questions that the older witch was not prepared to respond to. By mid-September, she'd pulled the girl aside and attempted to explain, in polite terms, that as a Professor, she did not have time to deviate from her lesson plan in order to address the questions that would be part of the next year's curriculum. She'd hoped that this would stem the flood of questions during class, but it resulted in Hermione seeking her out after hours, still eager to know things outside of the structured lessons for her year.

In truth, there was nothing wrong with the girl's desire to learn, but Hermione's mannerisms reminded her of her sister, a person Eugina was not fond of in the least. Still, she managed to separate the two in her mind, and did acknowledge that Hermione, as well as the two boys would likely be better suited for the seventh year classes, and in some cases were advanced beyond what she was teaching all together, but again, her goal was to ensure that they, as a collective group, were prepared for end of term exams and NEWTs in the following year. She had enough on her plate without the added stress of researching and preparing a special class solely for a select handful of students. The needs of the many outweighed the boredom of the few.

* * *

The trio resumed practicing the shielding charm as directed by Professor Pinderton. It was simple enough, one that they had reviewed in fifth year for potential DA use before choosing to practice the stronger 'Protego' charm instead. It posed little enough challenge, requiring less focus and intensity than the defense spell they used during the encounter at the Ministry in their previous year. As had been occurring lately, the spell worked better than they anticipated, resulting in the ricochet of a spell as they bounced it around between them. They made it a sort of a game while they waited for their fellow students to master the charm, erecting the barrier at the last possible moment then banishing it when it's purpose was served. The exercise served to improve their reflexes and speed, or that was the intension at least. 

They had discussed the situation before in their common room, and agreed that the latest incarnation of the Defense teacher was loads better than the likes of Umbridge; at least they got to use their wands. Unfortunately, she lacked the perception to realize that she was not engaging all her students with the current lesson plan. In Harry's opinion, she lacked the enthusiasm and flexibility that had made DADA class such an enjoyable part of the day when Lupin had been teaching. Hermione missed the emphatic lectures and shocking demonstrations that Barty Crouch Jr., masquerading as Mad-Eye Moody, had provided to drive the message home, almost to the point of missing the sound of 'Constant Vigilance!' ringing in her ears. And ironically, while Ron was pleased with knowing most of the spell work being imparted, even he was missing the stimulation of something new.

There was a level of frustration that they shared, knowing what was out there, and what was to come in the future. They wanted to be prepared, knowing that Voldemort would make his move again. Harry had shared to prophesy with them, and the theory that it would come down to him verses He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Both Hermione and Ron steadfastly vowed that they would be by his side, supporting him so that he would not be alone in that battle. But in order to be ready, they needed to be learning more than basic, rudimentary skills.

It was one of the many things that Hermione had rolling around in her head. She knew they needed access to more advanced hexes and curses, to have a mentor who would be able to prepare them adequately for the types of tricks one would expect from a death eater. They needed information on how best to survive encounters with the Dark Arts, beyond what was currently being taught. Ideally, Professor Snape would be perfect, having the inside view of death eater machinations, but he would be as likely to kill Harry as to train him, rendering it an unfeasible avenue for knowledge. In short, Hermione wanted to speak with Dumbledore to seek out other options, but was afraid it was a bit presumptuous, even for her.

**

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AN:** I'm a bit nervous about this particular chapter since I've introduced the new DADA Professor, but bear with me… Also, I'm not trying to bash American society or anything of the sort, just remember that the good professor is a bit stuffy, and anything short of finishing school propriety is a bit shocking to her. Sorry that this chapter was short, but they should start getting longer soon. So…er…yeah, review if you want. 


	8. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue…

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It was common knowledge that on any normal Friday afternoon, Hermione Granger would be found in 'her' nook of the library, hidden from the casual eye by shelves of dusty tomes. Occasionally another student would happen along, perusing titles for some essay or report, but the bushy-haired girl rarely noticed, being so entrenched in her own efforts. Often she would attempt to complete the homework assigned before the weekend started, leaving her days free for friends, and evenings to be used to revise or make corrections and add a few extra inches to her scrolls, whichever she deemed necessary. That was on a normal Friday. 

Today, she'd settled into her spot, opening texts, unrolling a scroll and uncorking her pot of ink. It was a ritual of steps she went through to define her territory in the event that Harry, Ron, or any student chose to encroach on her 'study space'. Hermione had managed to thumb through a few pages in her herb lore book and scratch out notes on ingredients used in the Draught of Death for her Advanced Potions essay, when she felt the presence of someone entering the area. She ignored it, moving on to list the particular properties each item imparted to the potion, getting into the rhythm of reading then translating the dry text into her own words. Her rhythm was interrupted by an insistent throat clearing. This had her looking up to find the head girl watching her with a closed expression and her arms crossed in a haughty manner.

"Is there something you needed me for Marietta?"

"Yes, if you could pack your things and come with me please."

"Is it really necessary? Can't we discuss it here?" Hermione questioned impatiently. She'd only just started her work, and wasn't willing to pack everything back up without good reason.

"I'm afraid not." The older girl smirked slightly, "I believe this should be handled with some amount of privacy and secrecy. I'm sure that's something you would be all too familiar with, isn't it?"

"Still haven't forgiven me for the jinx have you?" Hermione narrowed her eyes, considering the head girl. They weren't openly hostile, but there was a mutual dislike between them, and they both knew it.

"That has no bearing on the conversation we are about to have Granger," the girl hissed. "Need I remind you that I am Head Girl, and as such, deserve no small amount of respect from the likes of _you_. In fact, you should be grateful that I have seen fit not to bring your head of house into this…yet." Her smile was smug, Marietta full of herself and her ability to pull rank over the prefect.

Hermione heard the threat in the older girl's words, and while she was unsure of what could have transpired to warrant Professor McGonagall's involvement, she was nervous about what the head girl could do. If she could prove somehow that Hermione was unfit in her role as a prefect, it could be enough to have her badge and title taken from her; something that hadn't happened in the last 30 years, according to Hogwarts: A History. She did not want to be known as the first student in that time to be stripped of the position, especially since she was hoping to be named head girl for her final year. And that meant, unfortunately, that not only did she have to comply with Marietta's request, but she also needed to be polite and keep her less than mannerly remarks to herself, something that she'd been having problems with of late.

She ought not to have even referenced the jinx from last term, knowing that the blonde hated the memory of purple spots covering her face, spelling out her duplicity, but something about the older girl put her back up. Perhaps it was the feeling of betrayal to the DA, for all that Marietta had likely, in her mind, felt she was doing the right thing. Hermione knew she should let it go, be the more mature of the two, but she couldn't, the petty feeling would not be banished.

None-the-less, as quickly as she had laid her boundaries, she gathered them up, meticulously stacking books, corking the ink, re-rolling her scroll of notes, packing them one by one as the head girl tapped her foot in irritation. "Are you about finished?" she questioned.

Hermione ducked her head, forcibly biting back a retort concerning the lack of assistance from the seventh year despite her need for haste. Not that she'd willingly accept help from this particular person without questioning a motive behind it. She slung her book bag over her shoulder with an almost respectful, "Yes, I'm all packed."

The head girl nodded sharply and jerked her head to the side which clearly meant "follow me" and spun around, leading the way first through the cases of books, out the library, then down the stone corridors of the castle. They ended the journey in a small, unused classroom. The door was closed and locked, an imperturbable charm cast to prevent eavesdropping. Their footsteps disturbed the layer of dirt of the floor, causing it to become airborne and resulting in both teens sneezing several times. Hermione gave a quick flick of her wand, uttering a charm she'd picked up from Mrs. Weasley while at Grimmauld Place two summers ago, and the dust was banished. Not to be outdone, Marietta levitated two student desks from the corner, transfiguring one into a wooden backed chair, complete with a cushion. The other became a plush seat, similar in style to the squashy chairs found in the Gryffindor common room, only in Ravenclaw's colors.

Naturally, the head girl took the more comfortable of the two chairs, leaving Hermione to convince herself that it was merely coincidence that the strawberry blonde was looking down at her when they were actually fairly close in height. Then again, she was a Ravenclaw, a house known for learning, and would know that sitting higher gave a person a more authoritative stance. But the tactic was more Slytherin in nature, and all hostility aside, the girl before her didn't seem to be the same sort as Pansy or Draco.

A subtle 'ahem' drew the girl's attention away from her internal analysis to Marietta and the discussion at hand. "I've noticed that you've been taking the early patrols every evening." She paused, likely waiting for confirmation. When Hermione offered none, she continued, "When the head boy and I draw up these schedules, we rotate the hours amongst the prefects in order to be fair and equitable between all the houses."

"My shift has always been covered and none of the prefects that I have traded with seemed to mind the switch…" she attempted to explain.

"That is not the point. The fact that you continuously find it necessary to trade duties with the others undermines the authority of the Head Boy and Head Girl." She uttered the titles, imbuing them with enough importance that Hermione could envision the words capitalized, as if anything less would be disrespectful.

"I can assure you, that was never my intent…"

"I am not finished Granger. As I was saying, it undermines our authority, particularly when you do not see fit to clear these changes with us. May I inquire as to why you see fit to go around Zacharius and myself when you swap patrol times?" At this, Marietta leaned forward, as though eager for the answer.

Hermione took a deep breath, sifting through the possible answers to find something that would not put the other girl's nose out of joint, discarding anything that contained the words 'silly bint' or referencing the juvenile resentment they had toward each other. She settled for what she hoped was an innocuous statement. "I hadn't considered that it would be an issue. Given that both you and Zacharius are both in seventh year, I'd thought that you'd be busy with NEWT level projects, not to mention your own head duties."

"How very presumptuous of you. If I didn't know better, I would think that you wanted to make yourself seem special, deserving of certain concessions, such as taking the first rounds…" The girl paused, realizing that perhaps she was almost to the point of letting her own personal feelings override the impartiality she had to maintain as the head girl. "I assure you that Mr. Smith and myself are more than capable of handling something as minor as scheduling issues. Are you unable to perform your duties at the hours you are listed for?"

"No, it's not that…"

"Very well," the older girl pressed on, unwilling to listen to excuses, "in the future, you will clear any shift changes with us first, are we clear?"

The bushy-hair prefect nodded her acknowledgement. "Then I formally request that I be scheduled for the first shift until the winter holidays." She looked down, feeling galled at the need to ask for permission to have the earlier shift when it previously was a simple matter of finding someone to trade with. Most of the Gryffindor prefects enjoyed the excuse to stay up later, also knowing the reason why Hermione was up so early every morning. At least they were discreet when it came to Harry's emotional trauma.

"I'm afraid that I must ask for a reason to make this change." Marietta's voice was sugar sweet, a Cheshire grin stretched across her face. Hermione noted that she leaned back casually in the chair, her arms crossed, which, in the language of the body, meant she wasn't going to get what she wanted, no matter how logical her reasoning.

Hermione pondered her answer, knowing that the 'none of your ruddy business' response that was begging to tumble out of her mouth would not gain her the results she desired. She also couldn't disclose the full truth of her belief that she needed to be on hand in the event of another one of Harry's more violent nightmares. The incident at the Ministry of Magic involving the five Gryffindors and Luna had been glossed over at the leaving feast last term, and as far as the Wizarding world was aware, Sirius Black was still a notorious murderer, so it was unlikely that Marietta would have understood were she to say anything of those circumstances. The older girl would probably scoff and tell her that Harry's problem was a matter for Dumbledore or Madame Pomphrey, not a prefect with delusions of greatness. And, truth aside, she didn't want to divulge a reason so personal to her, never mind the added conflict of inherent distrust of this particular seventh year student and her inability to keep secrets quiet. Somehow, it always came back to that situation.

So she settled for a highly abbreviated version of the truth, without any detail what so ever. "I have to help Harry in the evenings." She stated, meeting the girl's eyes, hoping to impress not only the honesty of her words, but that the subject was not open for discussion. "So, if that is everything, I really need to get back to my studies," she finished, reaching for her bag, preparing to stand and leave.

"Unfortunately, that is not all Granger," the head girl practically growled. "I find that your explanation is lacking, and as such, your request is denied. Your schedule is posted in the common room, and I expect you to return to it, no matter what arrangements have been made previously."

Hermione inhaled sharply, her nostrils flaring in irritation and her eyes narrowing as she opened her mouth to retort. She closed it with an audible snap as she remembered the need to not antagonize the head girl unduly and wondered if she would have been wiser to approach Zack about the schedule change instead. He may have initially been skeptical about the DA, but he had come around, and also didn't resent her for a hex resulting in the need to wear a balaclava for the final months of the school year. "Very well, is there anything further?" she asked through clenched teeth.

"Yes, as a matter of fact. I feel it is my duty to remind you that as a prefect, you are obligated to maintain a certain level of propriety as the younger students look to you as an example for their behavior."

"I have done nothing to compromise…" she could swear the other girl was enjoying herself a bit too much.

"While the occasional snogging may be overlooked, other things cannot be ignored. Reports of you being 'intimate' with Harry Potter have been brought to my attention. The fact that you feel it necessary to alter the duty roster to suit your priorities, the chief excuse 'to help Harry' which you gave me yourself, makes me question your claim. Indeed if I find that you've been continuing to 'help Harry' in such a manner, I will have to speak to Professor McGonagall and Headmaster Dumbledore about replacing you as a prefect."

"What in Merlin's name would make you think that I'm 'intimate' with Harry? Hermione asked in confusion. Surely there was no proof, the only evidence, circumstantial at best, were Collin's pictures. Pictures that Harry assured her had been taken care of, and Harry had never failed her before.

"Several of the Gryffindor girls have confirmed that you and your 'friend' are often found downstairs at inappropriate hours of the morning when I spoke with them. I've been told that Potter does not even bother sleeping in the sixth year dorms to maintain the pretense of proper behavior. Not days ago, the Slytherin prefects were commenting on a rumor regarding you without a shirt on in your common room, where anyone could have seen!" Marietta delivered the information in a snide tone, her eyes nearly gleeful in the belief that she had some form of hold over the prefect.

"The incident you are referring to has been exaggerated and completely blown out of proportion." Hermione hissed, half disgusted. "It was a simple matter of falling asleep in front of the fire while working on my homework, and as for the rest, it's rumor at best."

"Rumor or not, people are inclined to believe such tales, which is even more reason for you to maintain decorum befitting a Hogwarts student…"

"People like yourself you mean? People who want to believe the worst of a person, true or not? This is the only time I'm going to tell you Marietta, I am not, nor have I ever done anything that could be construed as improper with Harry, and, not that it's any business of yours, we are just friends." Diplomacy be buggered, she was sick of the rumors and speculation surrounding her relationship with her friend. "I have never been intimate with anyone, and that is something I would swear to under the influence of veritaserum."

"Convenient for you to say, given that it's controlled by the Ministry."

"Stuff it, you may be head girl, but so help me, if I hear you furthering these rumors or even breathing a word in regards to my personal life, I'll make the jinx from last year look like a first year's effort. Believe me when I say that I'll make it something so spectacular, it'll be worth being expelled over." She watched the girl pale with a feeling of satisfaction.

"Now, if that is all, have my studies to attend to before my patrol at 10:00." And with that, she grabbed up her bag and swept out of the room in an indignant fury.

She was halfway to the tower before the realization that she'd just threatened the head girl sunk in. It was, for all purposes, a bluff, but Marietta didn't know that, and there was a possibility that the older girl might call her bluff and report her. That thought made her stop, slumping against the wall. What had she just done? "Oh god," she sighed, allowing herself a moment of panic.

Then her anger was back. If it weren't for the gossips, this wouldn't be a problem in the first place. And she was back to storming down the hall, muttering all sorts of insults under her breath, managing to spit out the password 'tiddlywinks' when she reached the Portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Stupid, sodding, thick-witted, idiotic notions. Preposterous, far-fetched, freakish ideas! Merlin but I could hex the lot of them." She spotted Harry and Ron, playing chess under a window. "If they want something to gossip about, I'll give them something real to blab over between classes." She dodged the other inhabitants of the common room, ignoring the greetings called out. "Immature, irrationally inane, half-witted bints, the lot of them," she seethed, dropping her book bag with a thump.

"What-" was as far as Ron got, his friend having cut off the question by grabbing his hair and all but yanking his head up so that she could fit her lips to his. She registered that his were a bit fuller than Victor's had been, and warmer. And Ron smelled more of wool from his jumper instead of the pleasant mix of cologne and leathers that she associated with Krum. It was a pleasant kiss, especially when he managed to snake his hands up to cup her face, but it didn't elicit the tingly sensation in her stomach that kissing Victor had when she was fourteen. Dimly, she recognized that the background noise had faded to silence. It was so quiet; she could have heard a niffler sneeze in the dungeons. This had certainly gotten the attention of everyone in the common room, which caused her face to flush as she broke contact with Ron's lips.

"Alright there?" she asked, relieved that he nodded in the affirmative, if looking slightly bemused. "Good, you're taking me to Hogsmeade next weekend," she announced before retreating to the dubious privacy of her dorm.

"What the bloody hell was that?" She heard Harry ask when she was halfway to the stairs.

"No idea mate," Ron replied in a dazed voice as she began to climb up to her room.

She heard the noise start up by the time she shut the door. Good, she thought, let them chew on that and make it new fodder for the rumor mill, she was beyond caring at this point. She took out a parchment and scrawled out a quick note.

_Remus-  
__Hope you are well and didn't suffer unduly this last full moon. I know it must have been  
difficult to be stuck with nothing but memories that night. Your letter was greatly appreciated  
by Harry, and seems to have done much for his mood.  
__All that aside, know any good hexes? The more embarrassing, the better, I'm in great need.  
__Gratefully yours,  
__Hermione _

She folded and sealed it, stuffing the note in her pocket so that she could owl it before she started her rounds that evening. She then pulled the curtains on her bed and cracked open her books for a second time, this time in an unusual place for an unusually annoying Friday afternoon.

* * *

So here's chapter 7. Hermione's just not having a good sixth year, is she? Hehehehe… Thanks to all the readers, even if you don't review. A special thanks to **BrennaM**, Thank goodness you are back! What would I do without you to be my evil muse? Not to mention being a tease with your review! Hugs to **Raspberri13**, thanks for sticking with the story, I'm glad you like it. Cookies for **Rane2920072** for asking what was up with Professor Pinderton. She's supposed to bug you, she bugged ME when I wrote her.Snicker Given the history of DA professors, can you really say you are surprised? 


	9. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, I'd probably be mobbed by outraged fans who are really ticked off at how slowly I write! Plus, I wouldn't kill Sirius Black…

**AN: **As you will no doubt hear any number of times from me, I'm so sorry about the delay in posting. I could give you a bunch of excuses about real life kicking me in the butt, which would all be true, but you aren't really interested in that. So rather, I will say thanks to everyone for their reviews, specifically Raspberri13, Rane2920072, and as always, the incomparable BrennaM. Oh, and I apologize up front, it's really hard to try and channel a slightly dotty, but brilliant 150 year old wizard...

* * *

It was dark, the stone corridors absorbing the light from the torches rather than reflecting it to afford her more than the barest amount of visibility. She would have used a Lumos spell to increase the light, but she was feeling too run-down to make the effort. So far, she'd encountered Peeves teasing Mrs. Norris and chased a handful of third years out of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, interrupting a prank in progress, involving dungbombs and some sort of Wizarding firework that she vaguely recognized as a Weasley Wheeze product. Peeves was ignored, the mischief makers were escorted back to their common room with the promise that their head of house would receive notice of their activities and likely result in a detention since most teachers were reluctant to dock house points from their own students. They groaned, which she resented. It wasn't like she'd spent ten minutes and told them off or anything, not that THAT particular action would have done any good. 

She almost thought she was losing her touch, but counseled herself that it was simply a matter of choosing one's battles. It could have been worse, at least she didn't have to worry about stumbling across the Weasley twins' antics. Anyone else paled by comparison when attempting to imitate their particular brand of mayhem. Still, it wouldn't due to let down her guard, and it would be in her best interests to finagle a list of the products that the Weasley brothers offered. Perhaps she could get Ron or Ginny to help her in that respect since the twins delighted in winding her up, much in the same manner that they had Percy.

Percy…He still hadn't come down from his pedestal, despite the Ministry's position on Voldemort's return, or so Ron said, in slightly less polite terms. Mrs. Weasley was still rather upset about his lack of desire to return to the fold, and Hermione could only guess what that filial betrayal would do to the family in the end. In some twisted way, it put her in the mind of Wormtail; for all that Percy wasn't trusted with any life threatening secrets, unless cauldron thickness had suddenly become of the utmost security. The only silver lining for Molly had been the fact that she laid a thick guilt trip on Fred and George about their NEWTs, and wrangled an agreement from each of them to sit in on the testing this year in order for them to prove that they were capable of scoring better than their wayward brother and thus secure her blessing in their dubious business venture. The delight of sibling rivalry at it's best, not that she really knew what it was like. Harry was probably the closest thing she had, or would ever have to a brother, Ron being a close second in spite of the fact that he had more kin than he knew what to do with.

She yawned, checking behind a suit of armor housed in a dark nook in order to verify that no one was out of bed and hiding after hours. It'd been a hard transition switching to the schedule that Marietta had posted. She also suspected that the head girl might have revised the duty roster to put her on the last possible shift for not only the remainder of the current week, but for the next two as well. She also had to cover the earlier shifts that she had previously committed to when she switched, allowing that fellow prefects had made 'plans to study', a euphemism for snogging in a broom closet, and were unavailable to trade back. All that added up to one exhausted bookworm who was actually entertaining the notion of contacting the master pranksters for some ideas of how to get Marietta back, the only problem being that their strong point wasn't really in subtlety, and she didn't want to make her standing worse with the head girl.

She mused on the last prank the twins had pulled on her wondering if they had applied the color changing charm to each page of her book or if it was one charm for the entire book. She'd been rather shocked to find herself the center of attention the final evening that she was permitted to stay at Grimmauld. Of course, the boys had settled into their nightly game of chess and she'd, predictably, cracked open her treasured copy of Hogwarts, A History, reviewing the chapter focusing on the Founders. With each turned page, she'd hear a snicker or a stifled chuckle, but she ignored it. After several pages and the continued sounds of mirth, she looked up to confront whomever was causing the disruption, to find Fred, George, Ron, Ginny and Harry watching her. She'd wondered if her shirt was un-tucked or if she'd slopped on it during dinner, only to find that she was a brilliant shade of lime green. She resumed reading, withholding the explosion of temper that they were anticipating, and when she turned the page, noted that she changed from green to scarlet, and then orange on the next page.

In the end, her only response to the prank had been a raised eyebrow as she asked, "Shall I read aloud to you lot then?" Keeping reign on her indignation had been worth the looks of disbelief that passed between the twins at her rather anti-climactic reaction, which ultimately resulted in another round of laughter. Perhaps she could do something similar to one of Marietta's books, provided it was a single charm and not something she had to spell each page for. She'd have to hand it to Mrs. Weasley's troublesome children; even with only three OWLs apiece they were quite resourceful. Merlin help her if she ever admitted THAT out loud where they could hear.

But revenge on the head girl would not change the fact that she was stuck with the late shift, leaving her tired. She still had to cover a few more days of double duty, which she might be able to manage if Madam Pomphrey had any wit sharpening potions in the infirmary. At this rate, she'd be learning how to appreciate coffee for the caffeine content, though her mum and dad would remind her that the dark liquid was just as bad for staining teeth as cigarette smoke. And what in the world was she going to do over the Christmas holiday? She'd gotten an owl from them on Saturday letting her know that they were meeting her at Platform 9&3/4, their version of an edict from on high. There was no way for her to wiggle out of going home this year, which meant missing the sight of Ron and Harry first thing in the morning and their faces as they tried to be polite in thanking her for the presents she got them. It was a shame really; she was looking forward to watching them squirm a bit before giving them their real presents.

At least she had Defense against the Dark Arts tomorrow morning, and while she had to stay awake in the class, it was comforting to know that she would probably be able to execute whatever spell was being taught for the day with little thought. But then again, she really felt the need to talk to the Headmaster about restarting the DA or perhaps some private tutoring after classes to learn more advanced spell work. Unfortunately, it would probably take more time out of her study schedule when she was currently without the excess time in the first place. There were times that she wished she still had possession of a time turner, save that she was twice as exhausted for having squeezed a day and a half's worth of living into twenty-four hours, so perhaps that wasn't a viable solution, unless she was planning to have a twelve hour lay in, and there really wasn't a quiet enough location to hole up so that bit of fantasy was right out.

And still, there was the ever-present concern for Harry, who seemed to be getting better, sort of. He was still waking up at night, calling out a warning to Sirius, but after a few minutes, he was able to fall asleep again, hardly requiring her presence to sooth him anymore. Every so often, she'd catch sight of a smile curling his mouth, a gleam in his eye. She'd caught him re-reading the letter from Remus on many different occasions, and she knew he'd written back to their one-time professor. She wondered what Remus had made of her own note and what he would reply with, if he'd actually dig up a jinx to send to her or not.

Which brought her back to the current string of gossip. Apparently now the odds were three to one that she was seeing both Ron and Harry in some sordid little relationship. Granted, this was out of the Slytherin house, so she didn't pay it too much mind, but it still bothered her a bit. Perhaps she should distance herself from the boys for a while, and retreat into her studies, except she liked being around them, and they were bound to get into trouble if she wasn't around to help out. On the other hand, she could use the extra time to catch up on her sleep, perhaps sleep deep enough to remember the dream that kept tickling at the edge of her mind.

Hermione checked behind a few tapestries, a nook, and two classrooms, finding nothing out of the ordinary. Her thoughts were still swirling around, jumbling up into a mess that guaranteed a headache was in the making. A quiet shuffling and the sound of someone coughing reached her ears. She turned with a squeak, finding the headmaster sitting on the sill of a window, his half moon glasses reflecting the dim torchlight as they sat midway down the bridge of his nose.

"Headmaster Dumbledore," she managed to force out, "You surprised me."

"Indeed, Miss Granger? I must say that I'm surprised to find you here as well." She couldn't see his face clearly, especially since his mustache and beard shrouded much of it, but she thought she could hear some humor in his tone. "I'd rather thought Mr. Boot was scheduled…" She had the disconcerting feeling that he was sizing her up, seeing the dark circles she knew were under her eyes.

* * *

The old wizard was taking stock of the student before him. She was one of the brightest students to enter Hogwarts since the time of Tom Riddle, and perhaps even before that. He noted the smudges that were darker than the chocolate irises of her eyes; an uncharacteristic frown had pulled at the corners of her mouth as her mind turned over thoughts while he watched her patrol the corridor he was in. She seemed to be missing the bounce in her step, and it even appeared that her wild hair was a bit limp, reflecting the inner musings of the witch. 

The portraits had alerted him to the fact that she had been making rounds not once but twice a night the past two days, tonight making the third occurrence. It seemed wise to have a talk with the sixth year before she collapsed under the strain of being overworked. While he avoided favoritism whenever possible, it was difficult not to have a marked interest in Miss Granger in general. Her relationship with the Boy-Who-Lived was something he also gave due attention to, knowing that many of her actions were done with his well being in mind. He made eye contact with the young girl in order to do what he often did with his students, brushing her mind to get an inkling of what was taking place inside her busy head.

Hermione Granger had always been an intriguing mind to touch, consisting of a flurry of thoughts. Often times she was mulling over a mix of homework, random facts gleaned from books, images of Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley, memories of conversations and lists of plans. Her head was always busy, a neatly organized collective that he would liken to a ballroom of old, full of dancers moving independently, but still mingling, whirling and spinning, braking apart and reconnecting in a way that meshed to the music only she could hear. It was often difficult to recognize that she was a sixteen-year old girl. Tonight, instead of a choreographed waltz, he found the chaos of a mob, thoughts bleeding into each other and spiraling downward, fueled in large part by her physical fatigue. He withdrew, having succeeded in the glimpse he was after without violating her personal thoughts by probing for exact details.

"If I'm not mistaken, you already performed rounds at seven this evening. I must say I'm a bit confused to find you doing the eleven o'clock ones as well." His tone was soft and kind, like that of a grandparent, the same tone that often inspired confidences from his students.

* * *

Though she doubted that Albus Dumbledore had ever been confused in his tenure as headmaster, she satisfied his curiosity anyway. "I was made aware that my prior arrangements may have become an inconvenience to my fellow prefects, and that in all fairness, I should be taking the shifts I'm scheduled for instead of shirking the duty." Her tone was a bit flat, but she figured it was better than open resentment. "It turns out that Terry had plans for studying this evening and wasn't able to take the earlier shift, so I covered it. Least I could do when he's helped me out before." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. 

She watched him stand and straighten the hat on his head. He offered his arm in a gesture of chivalrous formality that had practically died out over the past fifty years, just one of the odd eccentricities that gave lie to the headmaster's true age. "Why don't you join me in my office for a few minutes. Perhaps we could persuade Dobby to bring us a few mugs of hot chocolate, or perhaps some warm milk if you'd prefer?"

"Sir, I wasn't… I mean, I hope I didn't give you the impression that I was complaining." Her mind raced, hoping that he didn't think she wasn't up to the task of being a prefect.

"No, Miss Granger, I would not accuse you of complaining." His eyes glinted with humor. "You seem to have a lot on your mind, and I thought a bit of conversation would be in order."

"B-but I have my rounds," she was torn between either refusing the headmaster, which would not be polite, or neglecting her duties, which wasn't an acceptable action either. "C-couldn't we talk while I made my rounds?" she offered tentatively, feeling like she was opposing his wishes. For some reason, she was always nervous around him initially, as though she would be found wanting in some regard be it intelligence or blood status or skill. He was considered the greatest wizard of the modern times after all, why would he take time to talk with her? Verifying that she was fully recovered from being petrified, or that she was recovered from the curse received at he ministry was one thing, explaining the laws concerning the use of time turners another, but tonight did not fit in either category.

"Despite all appearances to the contrary," he stated wryly, watching her flush in embarrassment, "I find that I'm a great deal older than I'd like to admit, and often feel the aches of age during the evening, particularly when the stone of the castle tends to keep the halls a bit too cool for my comfort."

"I'm sorry, I didn't consider…"

"My dear girl, you have no need to concern yourself, besides, I feel that this conversation would be better suited for the comfort of my office, away from prying ears."

She started to reiterate her need to complete the patrol, only to have him wave her off idly as they mounted the stairs circling to his office. "If anything untoward occurs, the portraits will send word, do not worry Hermione. Do you mind if I drop formality? Our conversation could become quite cumbersome if I am to continue with Miss Granger this and Miss Granger that…"

"O-of course Sir," she agreed, moving to take a seat in front of his desk, expecting him to move around and seat himself in the tall chair behind it.

"Now, instead of worrying about your rounds, I should think the question is rather whether you can be spared from your other responsibilities, don't you think? Oh, come, let's sit by the fire, we are not going to talk as headmaster and student tonight. If you will wait but a moment and I will floo the kitchen for some cocoa and biscuits."

She watched him drop a pinch of floo powder into the roaring flames, turning them green. He stuck his head in the fire, and Hermione pondered what other responsibilities Dumbledore had been referring to, hoping that there wasn't yet another task that she had to cram into her schedule that she had forgotten up until now. She was startled by his voice, snapping her back to present.

"Relax my dear, I was simply referring to the situation with your friend Mr. Potter." He eased himself back into a chintz armchair with a sigh.

Her brow furrowed, "You knew about that?" The lines of disbelief smoothed as she shook her head, "Of course you know about it, I shouldn't be surprised."

He nodded in agreement. "There are few things that go on within these walls that I am not aware of. Your efforts with Harry are very commendable. He is very lucky to have friends such as yourself and Mr. Weasley." He watched her flush from his praise. "And that circles very neatly back to the impact your absence from the common room might cause."

"I…er…" she paused to collect her scattered thoughts, feeling less than eloquent at the moment. "That is to say, Ron is keeping an eye, or rather and ear, open for Harry. He's…Harry that is; he's been resting easier the past few nights. He and Mr. Lupin have begun corresponding, which has helped considerably in easing Harry's mind. At this point, I'm probably not even needed," she finished in a self-deprecating tone.

"I doubt that very much Hermione. Do not make light of the relationship between Mr. Potter and yourself." He aimed a look over the rim of his glasses, trying to impress upon her the importance of his words.

"We're… It's not like that!" Her eyes widened at her vehemence, a hand clapping over her mouth.

The old wizard chuckled at her mortification. "No indeed. The connection between you, Harry and Ron is not merely a fickle connection fueled by teenage hormones to be broken and cast off at the first hint of strife. The three of you have stuck together despite your disagreements, much like a family would, save that this is the type of relationship that you choose, rather than being born into. And when you make those sorts of choices, accepting people into your life, people you hold most dear, it often creates bonds that are even stronger than blood ties. It can often drive a person to do everything within their power to protect one another." He paused thoughtfully, watching her absorb the meaning behind the statement.

A small pop signaled the arrival of a house elf. To her surprise it was Dobby. He still wore a tea-towel tied at the shoulders, but had accessorized it with a vertically striped purple sock on one foot and an orange and green spotted bootie on the other. Upon his head, he wore one of her earliest versions of a knit hat, which alternated between red, white and green horizontal stripes, and adding to the overall eyesore of the ensemble.

"Miss!" he squeaked, "Headmaster said he had a guest, but did not tell Dobby it was Miss."

"Hello Dobby, how are you?" she asked, taking the tray from the elf and setting it on a low table by the fire.

"Miss is most kind for asking. Dobby is well, thank you." Though seriously meant, it was difficult for her not to laugh at the stiff bow that accompanied his gratitude. "Would Miss tell Harry Potter that Dobby was most grateful for his visit last week?"

"Of course Dobby." She replied solemnly, wondering when Harry had found time to visit the kitchens.

Dobby turned back to the headmaster with a bow, which the wizard returned with a nod of the head. "Thank you Dobby, it looks simply delightful, are those the lemon curd biscuits on the tray?"

"Indeed Sir, Dobby remembered that they are the Headmaster's favorite."

"Splendid!" the old wizard said, and with a clap of his hands, the tray floated between the two chairs, within easy reach. "That will be all, good night Dobby."

"Good evening Sir…Miss." The house elf bowed before disappearing with another pop and a puff of smoke.

They each claimed a mug, sipping at the hot chocolate slowly, the headmaster taking a healthy bite of a biscuit before he continued the discussion. "Now that we are settled in, where were we?" He squinted thoughtfully into the fire. "Ah, yes, I am aware of Harry's nightmares, as well as your efforts to help him. If what you say about him resting easier is true, then Harry may come round sooner than I had expected, which is all to the good. He deserves time to grieve, naturally, but he also deserves time to live as well."

"H-headmaster, if you knew, why didn't you help?" she bit her lip. If he were Professor Snape, she'd have been in for a blistering lecture on her impertinence, but as it was Dumbledore, she hoped for an answer instead.

The old wizard sighed, his head drooping a bit. "Up until last year, I had done what I thought was best for Harry, trying to protect him, but not explaining my motives. I'm sure he's related our discussion at the end of term last year, and why my actions ended up being something of a folly. Since that night, I've tried, where possible, to allow Harry the freedom to make his own choices, rather than have me push them upon him. Some rules he does have to abide by, such as spending a few days with his relatives, as distasteful as that may seem to him. Others, I can let him have leeway in. Rather than interfering in his personal grief and forcing a 'remedy' on him under the guise of his own good, I allowed him to choose his own path for healing. I despaired a bit to find that he avoided Lupin over the summer, I had thought that it would be natural for him to turn to the last person that was closest to not only his godfather, but his parents as well. Instead of coming to me for assistance, he has turned to his peers, yourself and Ron, not to mention this belated connection with Remus. That is a telling action about Harry and his regard for his friends." He sipped at his beverage, allowing her time to come up with her next query.

Hermione thought about her relationship with Harry. There was very little she would not do for him, and many of the things she would do, he would not ask, which made her want to do them even more. He never imposed on their friendship, except where homework was concerned in prior years. She concluded that there was just something about him, whether they were bickering, laughing, sad or in trouble, he was always there for her and Ron, and she was there for him whenever possible. If her parents had been able to have other children, she wondered if she would have had a brother, and whether she would feel as close to her sibling as she did to Harry. In thinking about her parents, even fleetingly, her mind made a connection.

"Sir, with V-Voldemort being back, d-do you think that my parents might be in danger? I-I mean they are muggle, but I'm afraid," she shifted her gaze from her cup to her feet, shifting in the chair. "It's just that right now some completely unfounded gossip is going round about Harry and me and I know that some of the Slytherins are probably writing home, so if they wanted to, it wouldn't be hard to stir up more emotional stress by targeting the families of muggle born students?" She looked up, eyes wide with fear at the possibility, her parents were all she had, and she couldn't let anything happen to them.

"We have all ready taken care of that," he assured her gravely. "The Ministry has sent out letters to the muggle parents of witches and wizards, detailing the threat Voldemort poses. The Minister has also created a task force of aurors to maintain surveillance in the evenings, which has been Tom's favorite time to attack in the past, I don't see him changing his tactics yet. I know that doesn't sound like much, but for most muggle families, it is more than adequate. The Order, thankfully, is independent of the Ministry for all that we have agents who work within the institution in order to garner information in a timely manner. I will trust your discretion with that information, though I have a feeling we will be inducting you and your friends when you come of age and finish your education." He smiled briefly before continuing his explanation. "For the few homes that contain families who may be of special interest for the Death Eaters to target, 24 hour protection has been established by the Order. Your family is one such, which means that your parents are as safe as anyone can be while we teeter on the edge of war."

War…the word lingered between the two of them, teenager and adult. For the elder, it conjured visions of victims in a generation past, some due to Voldemort, many more due to the battle with Grindelwald when he was fifty years younger. For the younger, it was an epiphany of the times to come. The 'battle' at the Ministry of Magic was barely even a skirmish by comparison to the things the Dark Lord would be capable of doing. She and Ron hadn't even been with Harry during the concluding moments of that night. She'd been knocked unconscious by a silent curse, and the brains had tangled Ron up rendering him useless…

"We aren't going to be ready," she mumbled to herself, realizing that her eyes had fallen shut as she fell into her memories. For all that she had passed all her OWLs, that Harry and Ron had gotten 'O's in Defense, none of them were really prepared for war. Not the type of war that someone like Tom Riddle was prepared to wage, they had never come face to face with what a real war could do. Magic was just as deadly to the masses as a muggle gun or bomb. She opened her eyes to find the headmaster's steady regard focused on her, a look of bittersweet satisfaction that she grasped the morbid implication of the situation.

"Harry shared the prophesy, well rather, both of the prophesies with us. If it's true that Voldemort's power is going to be stronger than ever, and if it's going to come down to Harry verses that evil git…" she trailed off, trying to find words that weren't offensive when one was speaking of a teacher. "Professor Pinderton is a very good instructor, it's just that we aren't going to learn what we need to know. It's been a bit of an issue lately since we know most of the things she's instructing us for, but really we need to know more. We have to be exposed to the dark magic that Voldemort would use. The sorts of things that Mr. Moody was to teach us." The words came tumbling out. Thankfully she stopped herself before the sarcastic comment about Voldemort putting his war on hold for three years while they completed auror training had been voiced, but she had the sneaking suspicion that Dumbledore knew her thoughts anyway. She hoped he didn't mind her candor on the matter, especially since he probably didn't need her lecturing about preparedness for a war.

"Unfortunately, Mad-Eye is busy with Order business, things that I will not discuss with you until you are of age. And were he to be free, he's developed a bit of a dislike for Hogwarts, particularly due to the lack of one's freedom to apparate to safety when needed. A good number of Order members are keeping guard over muggle households, but I may be able to find a suitable mentor." He deliberated for a few moments, "Yes, I do believe that would be a nice tidy answer to that situation indeed." He'd seemed to almost forget Hermione's presence. "Give me a week or two, and I may have the resolution to that particular problem."

Hermione opened her mouth to comment, only to find a yawn in the place of words. "Excuse me," she apologized. "It's late, and I missed my customary nap after dinner."

Dumbledore waved off her excuse, "Not at all, I understand, youth still requires adequate rest while the elderly seem to get on fine with less and less, though I daresay the aching joints and gray hair are not an equal trade to the additional hours one gains. Perhaps it would be best for you to head off to bed."

"One last thing, though curiosity did kill the kneazle. Why haven't you had Harry work on Occlumency again?"

The wizard drained off the last drops of his cocoa, a slight look of regret crossing his face before disappearing beneath the façade of a kindly old man. "I fear that Harry's relationship with Professor Snape is such that neither one of them would come out the victor upon interaction. The professor has a bit of bias against your friend which at this time, renders his teaching methods more harsh than is practical." She managed to contain a snort at the understatement. He continued, "I fear that Harry has inherited his father's temperament which renders him, if you will excuse the pun, too close-minded to learn the skill from our Potions Professor." He smiled lightly.

"What about you? Can you not teach him?"

"I could, but there in again, Harry is a little resentful towards me for my keeping him in ignorance. I confess that I've also found myself dreadfully busy with trying to keep up with you children here at the school. We still have a bit of time yet, and I suspect that he will come to me when he is ready and suitably open to learning the skill."

"Do…" she started to ask, then closed her mouth with a snap.

"Go on, what is it Hermione?"

"Do you think Professor Snape would consent to teach me?" she could barely believe she was asking this, but the headmasters words came ringing back to her 'drive a person to do anything within their power'.

Dumbledore leveled his gaze at her, steepling his fingers together as he contemplated her request, his smile hidden by his hands, though the blue in his eyes seemed to twinkle. "Do you really have the time for that Hermione?"

"I can make time for it Sir. It's an important skill, it would be beneficial to learn." She replied with all seriousness.

"I do not dispute the sentiment, however you are still taking a larger class load than most students bar a few Ravenclaws. Most of your peers have dropped a class or two to allow time to study and specialize on their NEWT classes."

"I did drop Divination and Muggle Studies," she pointed out.

"I believe it was so you would have time for Ancient Runes and Arithmancy." This was pointed out dryly.

She thought to the book she'd checked out two weeks before. Granted, she hadn't done more than skim through the pages, but there were some interesting theories inside. She had a feeling she would need both branches of study at some point in her nebulous future. Besides, while she had planned on becoming an auror after seventh year, she'd likely give it up when she slowed down physically. While she wasn't vain, she didn't want to end up looking like Mad-Eye Moody when she couldn't dodge a wayward curse. And she had given some serious thought to being an Unspeakable if the auror career path didn't pan out.

"I'll need those classes," she replied, "I want to keep my options open."

"You understand that you will still continue to attend classes with Professor Pinderton to avoid any unwanted attention from less than desirable sources. Even if I find a suitable mentor, it would be best to keep this quite and discreet. If we can keep Riddle from learning what skills Harry is developing, it would be to Harry's advantage."

"All the more reason to learn Occlumency. He'll have to learn it to keep Voldemort from seeing." She nearly started to plead for permission.

"With your current class load, I will not encourage it." He said watching her slump in defeat. His next words caused her to perk up again. "I will not discourage it either. It is for Professor Snape to decide, and for you to make your case to him. Remember that secrecy is of the utmost importance." He made sure she acknowledged all the stipulations connected with this new course of study. "Given your history with the time turner three years ago, I know I can trust you to be tactful, but you will have to work out the details with him. I daresay that an excuse like remedial potions will not work in your situation."

She nodded, thinking that it was an end to their conversation that evening. "Yes sir, thank you."

"And Hermione?" she turned away from the door to look in his direction. "Do consider dropping at least one of your classes before NEWT year. It is important to recognize when you take on too many tasks _before_ you burn yourself out. You will still be the brightest witch of your age if you drop Astronomy or Care of Magical Creatures."

"Oh but Hagrid would be upset if I dropped his class. I could never…" she protested before it struck her that the headmaster was only making a suggestion. "I'll consider it, but for now, I'll keep the classes I have." She yawned again.

"I think it's time for you to go, straight off to the dorms with you. No adventures along the way. And take some of the biscuits with you, in case you oversleep and miss breakfast." He levitated some cookies her way with a flick of his hand. "Off with you now. Good night."

"Good night Sir, and thank you."

"My door is always open if you are in need my dear." She heard his words as the door closed behind her with a thump. She wondered, as she descended the stairs, if she could persuade him to teach her wandless magic, then dismissed the notion with a chuckle, knowing that she had enough on her plate as it was. But maybe… if she dropped Astronomy like he suggested… Then growled at herself, making her way up to the seventh floor so that she could go to bed.

* * *

**AN2:** Poor Hermione, her mind was all ready jumbled up and now there's this... It will get better for her... I think... Review! 


	10. Chapter 9

AN: Don't get used to the longer chapters, it's an aberration, I'm sure.

* * *

Remus slumped in the seat, knowing that he still had about 25 minutes left of the ride before he disembarked and started his walk home. He'd spent the past couple of days apparating from location to location to talk with various muggle parents whose children were scheduled to receive their first Hogwarts letters next summer. It kept him busy, to be sure, especially since he didn't have regular full time employment and his only other option would involve many hours sitting and stewing in his own thoughts. He wouldn't say it was unimportant, the protection of the next generation of witches and wizards was certainly important, but he wouldn't go so far as to believe that he was the best person for the job either. 

Occasionally, Dumbledore had some errand or another for him to carry out under the guise of order business, 'missions' he called them, but they were nothing more than glorified busywork. There was no reason to travel to Egypt, just to get a report from Bill Weasley when Bill was perfectly capable of catching a port key to London then apparate to the Burrow, and visit with his family to boot. Forays into Knockturn Alley for ingredients and 'special items' were equally unnecessary when Severus Snape could procure them through his established connection, and the exercise only opened the door to criticism from his childhood rival. The most recent round of liaisons with muggle families of potential Hogwarts students were something that Molly and Arthur Weasley would have been more capable in handling, particularly when, as a couple with students currently enrolled in school, they could empathize with parental shock and protective urges.

Which was not to say that he didn't feel the urge to protect. He was all for doing his part to keep others safe, but he'd rather do it in a way that he was best suited for, like surveillance. And that was the one thing Albus kept him away from, despite having the benefit of a keen sense of smell and hearing that was sharper than any other member of the order. He suspected that the Order's leader chose not to utilize him in such a fashion for fear of what he'd do if he encountered certain…people. And that was a term he used loosely when applied to the likes of Wormtail or Bellatrix Lestrange. He was torn between gratitude for being spared the stress on his self-control and frustration that his well-intentioned former headmaster doubted said self-control in the first place.

It wasn't as if Remus wasn't already most acutely aware of the Ministry's views when it came to werewolves and murder. Regardless of whether the victim in question was a confirmed Death eater or that the lycan in question was as grounded in the present and as mentally competent as any auror called upon to perform the same task, he would be treated as an animal, incapable of rational thought. Things were changing, but it was a slow process, they'd only recently relaxed full moon lock downs due to the creation of the Wolfsbane potion, and that particular potion had been around for a few years now. With the threat of Voldemort and his minions looming on the horizon, werewolf legislation changed at a pace similar to the dripping of tree sap in January, for all that it would be sweeter when certain laws were finally repealed, he could do without the wait.

Which circled his thoughts back neatly to the fact that he wasn't being allowed to help for the same reason that made him best adapted for the job. If he was honest with himself, he really wanted the opportunity to exact revenge on Bellatrix, and most especially on Peter, in a nice, cool level headed way so that he could prove to Dumbledore that he had self-control even in the face of such targets deserving retribution. He probably wouldn't feel so stir crazy if he had Sirius to keep him company, particularly when he was staying over at Grimmauld place. But that was not to be either… His reverie broke at the slowing of the bus, and when it finally halted in his hometown, he disembarked.

It was small, and close knit, what some folks might describe as 'sleepy', and geared more toward those of retirement age instead of the younger crowd. There were no nightspots, no frantic hustle and bustle, most of the shops didn't open until after noon on Sundays because most everyone went to church. It was quiet and reserved, it was home. He swept his gaze over the familiar buildings, noting that nothing had changed; the same people traversed the sidewalks, waving a casual greeting.

He mused on the fact that there used to be several Wizarding families living in the area. Nothing on the scale of Dublin or Brighton, but enough that his parents hadn't felt isolated when they moved here. As the years went by, more and more muggles moved into town. Rather than take precautions to hide the magical goings-on, it became more convenient to move into areas more densely populated with their own kind. He could sell the house that he'd inherited, but it held too many memories, and it needed some serious work before it would be marketable, besides which, he hardly wanted to go through the effort of searching for a new residence. The fact that the area was so quiet and private made him feel like this was his place in the world, a place to retreat when life got him down.

He maintained outward appearances, being a polite if reserved and soft spoken 'young' man, young being relative to the average age of the population. People assumed that he was some sort of traveling salesman, which explained why he often was shabbily attired, appeared tired and offered a plausible explanation for why he was often away for weeks at a time. The locals knew that he did not own an auto. So when Dumbledore called, or rather flooed with various tasks that would keep him away for days at a time, he'd pack his overnight bag and walk into town. Invariably, someone would see him, and eventually everyone would know that Mr. Lupin was on the road again. He would take the coach into the city, where he could apparate without notice. He'd stay at headquarters until he'd completed all his assignments, updating the headmaster before taking his leave, and it was back onto the bus, to return to his home in the same manner he left it, to sit at home until he was summoned again. Or until he found a side job to keep him busy in the interim.

Sometimes he disliked the façade he had to maintain, it would be easier by far to floo or apparate to the edge of his property where his wards ended. But it would draw questions if he were to mysteriously disappear and not answer his door if someone chanced by to call. Not that anyone did very frequently, but there were a few people who knew him, mostly widowed elderly ladies that he did odd jobs for, chopping wood, delivering groceries, occasional gardening, things of that nature. If people knew he was 'home' they expected him to walk into town at least once a week to shop or check the notice board. If he didn't make an appearance, one of the dear ladies would stop by to check up on him, and make sure he wasn't ill. It was comforting to know that someone was looking out for him, even in such a small way.

His feet made the turn off from paved road to the dirt lane without any conscious thought from him. Remus stopped thinking about the reasons why he walked instead of using magic and enjoyed the journey. Sometimes this leg of the trip was the most enjoyable part of going home because of the natural scenery. Brambles lined the ditches for a distance before changing into the carefully maintained screen of hedgerows that lined his property. He noted that they needed to be trimmed again before they started encroaching on the drive. He inhaled deeply, taking in the odors that came to his nose. There, the smell of mud and leaves still damp from the day before. There, the scent of late blooming wild roses. There, the sickly sweet aroma of decaying crab apples that sat too long on the damp ground. He noted that the neighbor had been riding his horses up and down the street again, not only could he see the fresh deposit amongst the hoof prints, but he could smell it and the lingering trace of equine and human presence, no more than a day or two old.

He turned a final time at the break in the shrubs, opening the wooden gate that was in need of a coat of whitewash. His eyes moved to the familiar mint green house at the end of the footpath. It was more like a cottage, being small and a bit cramped if there were more than three inhabitants at any one time. There were two bedrooms, a small study that was only slightly larger than a walk in closet, a kitchen with a breakfast bar instead of a kitchen table, and a sitting room with the fireplace as its central feature. There was also the basement that flooded every spring and fall, rendering it entirely unusable for storage, and the attic that had a small window just under the roof peak where swallows loved to nest. He supposed if he really wanted to, he could use magic to expand the space, provided he could remember the proper Arithmancy equations and incantations, but he didn't really need to as it was just him rattling about. It wasn't like he had frequent overnight visitors.

If he wanted company, he could slip off to the diner in town, and have the owners, Franklin or Ruth whip up a BLT and fry him some chips while listening to them talk about their children's trials and tribulations, or the current milestone each grandchild had recently achieved. Of course, the price for being in public and enjoying their company was the eventual questions on his own personal life, seeing as he had no children, the topic invariably turned to whether he was socializing or not, and when he was going to settle down with a nice woman who would feed him up and give him a reason to stay close to home. In an odd way, Ruth reminded him of Molly though she was rail thin with salt and pepper hair, and he'd never heard her raise her voice to chastise anyone to date. She meant well when she clucked over him like a mother hen.

Remus opened his front door, testing the air for anything out of place, listening for any noise that did not match up with the few expected sounds of his domicile. The phone was quiet, and he could hear the clock ticking merrily. The kitchen spigot was dripping sporadically, signaling that he'd forgotten to center the tap and swing the handle to the left. As he swung the door open, his ears picked up the whisper of paper scraping against the floor. He listened an additional minute, no tell-tale creaking present which would have alerted him to the possibility of an intruder, but he was convinced that he was alone, and all was normal.

He retrieved his mail from behind the door, finding four posts. He quickly identified the cream parchment with the blue seal as his standard post-moon missive from Hermione, the vellum with the distinctive green writing was from Dumbledore, which was odd, particularly when he noted that it was closed using the Hogwarts seal instead of his personal stamp. He smiled when he found not one, but two letters with an untidy scrawl that he was coming to recognize as Harry's hand, one addressed to Old Man Lupin, likely a jibe for calling the teen young in his own letter, the other simply marked as Remus.

He dropped into his armchair, lighting the fire with a wave of his wand, pondering the question of which letter to read first. It was foolish, but this was probably the most correspondence he had received at one time since his school days, and he almost felt pathetic at the notion that something so simple could inspire him to some level of excitement. His saving grace from foolishness was the philosophy that one should appreciate the simple things in life, and that he obviously needed some cheering up if letters from two teenagers and his old headmaster made him feel like Christmas had come early. Still, he allowed it to draw his mind away from some of his more oppressive memories.

Lupin opted to open Hermione's letter first, or rather the note. It was short; a total of five sentences if one didn't include the greeting or closing. It was also very blunt, which was unlike her. Typically she asked after his health, but only after a paragraph or two had been devoted to idle gossip or commentary about her studies and odd facts she had read, and even then she would dance around the subject of the full moon. Instead, this had the subtlety of a bludger to one's head, and the offhanded request for hexes was definitely not the norm. He wondered what had put her knickers in a twist. Had she fought with Ron or Harry? He didn't think it would have anything to do with Snape, as he was a teacher, and she would never retaliate against the Potion Master's biased treatment against her and her friends, especially after her own guilt from attacking said teacher in third year. She seemed to get on well with all of her other Professors, or at least that was the impression he got from her previous letters.

Perhaps he could dig up the information on the Pinocchio hex. It was something he and his friends had worked on, inspired by a fairy tale in a book borrowed from Lily for Muggle Studies. They'd manipulated an existing charm to only lengthen the nose when the hexed person used magic, so with every swish and flick, the body part would gain a millimeter in size. It wouldn't be noticeable the first couple of times, but eventually someone would notice. One could always use a simple engorgement charm, but it was more fun to cast the spell with a trigger so that the afflicted person wouldn't even be aware of being jinxed until later. It was also the key to not getting caught, particularly if said jinx was cast during a non-magical class like potions or herbology, or even during a meal.

On the other hand, after having the Weasley twins as resident pranksters for the previous six years, most students were expecting magical pranks, and it would be more surprising if she were to fall back on non-magical methods of exacting revenge. Something along the lines of a good old-fashioned itching powder, which wasn't embarrassing per se, but definitely annoying. If the person being pranked went to the hospital wing believing themselves to be hexed, nothing would appear out of the ordinary. 'Finite' wouldn't stop it, nor would cleansing charms, nothing but a good soaking in the tub with a liberal application of soap could cure the irritation. He would know, Lily of all people had come up with the idea, and slipped him the muggle powder to dust Sirius and James's clothing as revenge for some rather chauvinistic remarks. It was rather amusing when he thought about it, listening to the dark haired boys whine about the discomfort, especially Sirius who complained that the constant scratching was doing nothing for his sex appeal with the ladies.

Unfortunately, that particular form of retaliation would only work if she had access to the person in question, if it were someone from another house… Well, he'd have to give it some more thought, and perhaps she could work out the logistics if he just owled her with some suggestions, but it would keep until he'd read his other letters. He realized he was desperate for entertainment given that he was seriously pondering the best way for _Hermione_, of all people, to prank someone. Though he wouldn't send her any truly harmful ideas, he still felt that Padfoot and Prongs would have been proud of him for encouraging her instead of being responsible and dissuading her notions of revenge.

He laid her note down, exchanging it for Harry's correspondence, opening the 'Old Man Lupin' letter, figuring that it was the first one owled to him. The title itself caused him to chuckle, while he did feel old the day of the full moon and the day afterward while recovering from the change, he was still young by Wizarding standards. Actually he'd be considered early in his prime for all that he had a dusting of silver in his tawny hair, and that was thanks in large part to the stress of lycanthropy. At least he still had all his hair, and didn't need to resort to hair growth potions like some wizards, not that he was vain. Vanity had always been Sirius' thing. Thinking it best to steer away from those thoughts, he began reading Harry's letter.

_Loony Loopy Lupin,_

_(Thanks to Peeves for that bit of name-calling) Thanks for your letter, it was rather a relief to hear  
__from you. Your perspective on my parents and Sirius are important to me since I never really had  
__much time with any of them. But your opinions are also valuable as well, and I don't want you to think  
__that the only reason I contact you is to find out about them. Dumbledore told me something about  
__dwelling on dreams and forgetting to live in first year, and I reckon it's the same thing for grasping at  
memories. I want to know about them, of course, but I'd also like to have ties with someone who's  
living too, if that makes any sense. So, in the interest of friendship, there's a Hogsmeade trip planned  
for the third Saturday in November, I thought that maybe we could meet at the Three Broomsticks  
around noon, if you aren't busy. If you do come, you might catch a glimpse of the newfound 'love'  
of Ron and Hermione._

_I imagine you are quite confused by that development, but I'll explain. The whole thing is quite funny  
actually, some sort of diversion to keep the school gossips off the topic of the non-existent dating  
that Hermione and I have been doing. (Wish someone had clued me in about THAT) She said she'd  
think about it, and I think she'll do it since the rumors are getting to her. _

_Oh, and while on the topic of Herms, she thinks you're some sort of poet or something (hope you  
don't mind that I let her read your letter) and she's happy because you gave her the opportunity to  
say 'I told you so', which I will explain later. Anyway, it's after curfew, and it wouldn't due to fall  
asleep in the greasy git's class._

_In Friendship,_

_Harry_

Remus folded the letter with a sigh. Dwelling on memories, hadn't he been doing that very thing over the past few months? Using his affliction as a shield against socializing, spending his evenings steeped in memories of his own time in school when he was running in the crowd with James and Sirius? For a teenage boy, Harry could be very insightful, even if he didn't know it. And at the same time, the letter definitely was full of enthusiasm. It sounded as though they would be trading a good many stories in…he checked the calendar…three days. And he could not help but smirk at the last line of the letter. If he were a professor, he'd take Harry to task for the disrespect to Snape, but still, the boy was entitled to his opinion, and Snape did appear to be rather greasy and acted like a git, so it was only the truth. He picked up the second of Harry's letters, judging by the date, it most likely had arrived yesterday.

_Remus,_

_Had to use a school owl to send this, Hedwig only just returned, and I assume that you weren't at  
home since she came straight back. Anyway, had to tell someone about this. Hermione has gone  
completely round the twist! Last Friday she came charging into the common room talking to herself,  
and then all but snogs Ron without any by your leave, not that he minded overmuch. But you know  
Hermione, she usually sits in the corner with a book, all nice and quiet as you please, and tells anyone  
off if they get too public with their displays. So then Saturday morning comes round, and she plops  
down for breakfast like nothing happened, and she never commanded Ron to take her to Hogsmeade  
in that tone she uses like she's the Queen mum herself!_

_But wait, it gets even worse! Sunday, she comes back from her rounds in a bit of a flap and practically  
hauls me to the dorm and makes me dig out the sodding book Snape gave me last year. She kept going  
on about being prepared or something. She's nutters, I swear. I know she writes to you, has she  
mentioned anything?_

_Harry_

_P.S. Defense is a dead bore, wish you were still teaching._

He laughed outright for no other reason that Harry's obvious exasperation at his friend's actions. And to be honest, it really didn't sound like the girl he'd known three years ago, or even from last year for that matter. Clearly something was going on with her, though he couldn't offer any insight to Harry as to what it was. He'd have to wait and judge for himself on Saturday when he met up with the kids. Not enough time to get an owl through to confirm the time with Harry, perhaps he could floo the common room, provided Albus had unblocked all the fireplaces after Umbridge had been removed from power. Which reminded him that he had one last letter to read.

_To Mr. R.J. Lupin,_

_We have a matter of business that is in need of your circumspect attention.  
I will call upon you at seven p.m., Thursday the 14th to discuss the details._

_Sincerely,  
__Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore  
__Headmaster of Hogwarts School of  
__Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Now his curiosity was truly peaked. What did Dumbledore have in mind for him now that required him to make the request as the Headmaster? All the muggle families that he'd been meeting with were on behalf of the leader of the Order. The only thing that came to mind was the notion that perhaps the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher wanted a real werewolf to display for the class during the full moon. No matter how much he respected Albus, he was not going to degrade himself by allowing himself to be paraded around like some sort of freak. He had about two hours to clean up from the trip and dig out the tea service and hunt up some biscuits for the meeting.

* * *

Seven o'clock found him sitting in his chair, thumbing through a book of jinxes for something relatively harmless enough that he could owl Hermione with. This was a 'special' copy as it had handwritten notes in the margins and folded sheets of parchment with variations on traditional hexes as well as the results of certain spells and charms when combined. He supposed he could publish a book of pranks based on the Marauder's escapades; it would be a great companion piece to the Marauder's map. On the other hand, a true mischief-maker should be original and come up with their own jokes to pull on unsuspecting peers. Remus did consider making a copy of the book as a gift to Harry, a sort of tribute to his father and godfather, to be given after graduation, of course. 

He registered the sound of the fire changing from the pleasant crackle to the soft whoosh that indicated someone flooing in. He set his book aside and watched as the Headmaster stepped out of the fire, only a slight wobble hinting at the many turns one had to take to reach his home via the network. The older wizard was dressed for his office in royal blue robes with the Hogwarts crest and a matching tall hat that were covered with soot until he cleaned them with a flick of his finger.

"Ah, Remus, how are you my boy? I don't suppose you would consider moving to a location closer to the school? I'm starting to find that the Floo Network is not a comfortable way to travel these days, at least, not for long distances. No? Very well, you're not here for long anyway. Is that Earl Grey? Absolutely smashing, I haven't shared a good cuppa with anyone since the last staff meeting, though I did entertain Miss Granger Sunday, but that was hot chocolate. I don't suppose you have a bit of brandy to doctor this up a bit, do you?"

Remus nodded and retrieved a small bottle of black current brandy from the kitchen, mulling over Dumbledore's string of social niceties. He almost felt like it was a social call with a great uncle or some such relative, save that it was actually a business call, or so the note had said. He shrugged with a sigh; the wizard would get to the point when he was ready. He settled back into his chair, finding that Albus had transfigured the matching seat into a recliner so that he could rock while still enjoying the extra cushioning that a rocking chair would not afford.

"I suppose you are wondering why I'm here," Albus said with a familiar twinkle in his eyes as he sipped from his cup.

"I confess that I had been quite curious since I'd only just come home and had been in contact with you on Saturday," the werewolf scrutinized the man sitting opposite of him. "It's not another errand is it? I really don't see why you don't have Molly or Arthur get in touch with these families; most of the parents are convinced that I'm due for a long stay in a padded room. I should be out there keeping an eye on potential targets or tracking death eaters…" Remus trailed off in frustration.

"Now, now, that's exactly what Tom would expect, particularly if Peter has divulged the connection between you and Sirius. He'd expect you to run out for vengeance; perhaps even let you exact it for a price. And even if you turned his offer down, he'd take the opportunity to remove you from Harry's support system, even go so far as to cage you until the full moon and possibly set you loose in wizard society, knowing that it is quite difficult to trap a werewolf once it's tasted blood. It would result in diverting the Ministry to quell the resulting werewolf prejudices and even strengthen the laws governing them while weakening the protection extended to muggles. You know this. It's best to bide our time."

"Yes, I know. Now what sort of matter do you have in mind that requires you to come as a school official?"

"As I mentioned earlier, I had a rather interesting conversation with Miss Granger. Our Defense teacher is quite competent this year and very focused on bringing all the students up to standard…"

"I certainly hope that you are not going to ask me to be on hand for a live demonstration for her lesson on werewolves," Remus commented dryly.

"Not at all my dear boy, that would be in poor taste, you aren't some oddity to be put on display. Bare with me, I'm getting to the point. Now, as I was saying, she's competent, but there are some students who are far ahead of the syllabus for their year."

"I have a letter from Harry mentioning that the class was a bit of a bore, I'm assuming that he's one of the students," Remus offered.

"Indeed, Miss Granger is another, and where those two are, Mr. Weasley is as well. Hermione and I had an interesting discussion about their preparedness for the future, and she feels that there is much more to be learned which Professor Pinderton is not offering in their lessons." Albus watched the younger man over his glasses.

Remus was a bit shocked, "You aren't suggesting that I come and teach classes again are you? The board would never allow you to re-hire a werewolf, I can only imagine the owls you must have received when I resigned."

"There weren't as many as you think, and those I did receive were mostly from the older pure-blood families. But no, I am not proposing that you teach regular classes. That would undermine the good Professor and segregate the students if there were two distinct defense classes; we are still trying to promote school unity you know. Rather I was thinking of more of a mentorship, you've all ready lived through one rise and fall Voldemort."

"You want me to mentor Ron, Harry and Hermione? To teach them what to expect from death eaters? Are you sure I'm the right person to do this?"

"I believe they could learn a fair bit of knowledge from someone who managed to keep the secret of unregistered animagi's in the school from me, yes. You'll also teach other students as time goes by, though probably not until next year. I'm thinking that the school will send out waivers with the Hogwarts letters over the summer so that parents can choose whether it's appropriate for you to tutor their children or not. For now, my primary concern is with Harry and his eventual role against Voldemort as well as his friends." The wizards face became quite serious. "They must learn all aspects, particularly the darker facets, to expect anything from a fanatic who truly believes in the rubbish of pure blood being superior. You are familiar with how aurors are trained, even if you never became one, and Harry is going to need your knowledge and support."

"I can do it, but they are only children Albus." He shifted in his seat, a bit put off with what he was being asked to do, they were only 16, and deserved to enjoy their teenage years.

"Remus, you know they haven't been children since the end of term last year, and even before then for all that I did not want to admit it. They've already gotten a taste of what is coming. It would be a disservice to them if we didn't give them the tools they need for survival. I want you to be reasonable, but don't coddle them, Voldemort surely wouldn't. As I pointed out, Hermione broached this topic with me, perhaps not in detail, but it was on her mind. She is quite determined that they all make it out of this war alive."

"She is quite a young woman. If anyone will push the boys into working harder, it would be her. You are right; they haven't been children for a while now. I assume that this mentoring is to be kept somewhat secret? They aren't suddenly going to drop Defense against the dark arts to make time for this? Am I going to be forced to skulk through the halls for clandestine meetings?"

"At present time, they will maintain their current classes. Perhaps later it will benefit the Order if we arrange for Riddle to learn that they dropped that course of study, but for now we will keep up pretenses. You will arrive in December and stay as a guest of the school, which will allow you access to the students. I'll arrange for one of the guest rooms near the Gryffindor tower to be prepared. Of course, Hogwarts will pay you a modest stipend for your services, but most of the students and staff are not to be aware of it for now, so you will be spared staff meetings, but will have to endure some of Professor Snape's more acerbic comments about your status in life."

"Yes, well, I've become accustomed to it when he brings me the Wolfsbane potion, he wouldn't be Snape if he didn't sneer at me frequently."

"Eventually the two of you will have to come to terms with this childhood grudge, there may come a time when you will need each other's help. Don't scoff, you are supposed to be on the same side of the war you know, even if you can't acknowledge it in public, it would be nice if you made peace in private. And since I've just suggested one near impossible task, I'll give you another. I'd appreciate it if you could use your influence with Miss Granger, as a fellow scholar, to try and convince her to drop one of her classes or she's going to be quite frazzled by the end of the year, I'm afraid."

"She isn't taking a full schedule is she? Surely she's dropped at least History of Magic." The headmaster shook his head. "I'll do my best, though I've got the impression that harmony with Snape would be more attainable of the two goals." Remus laughed, "At least I'm spared the duty of explaining to muggles, who only have an inkling of what it means to have a magically-inclined student, the potential danger of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I've had to defend my sanity a great number of times because of you."

"I have another job for you," Dumbledore corrected with a chuckle, "Your task between now and December is to visit the Dursleys and the Grangers and convince them to sign these." He handed over two scrolls that were, Remus assumed, consent forms.

"You've all ready secured Molly's permission?" he questioned.

"No, not yet, I think I may approach Arthur, he's more level headed about things of this nature when it comes to his family."

"Coward."

"Gryffindors are brave, not suicidal," Dumbledore remarked, which garnered a snicker from Remus. "I would never presume to tell dear Molly that her son is growing up, nor that her daughter is in need of the same sort of training, but I think I can put that off for a bit at any rate."

"At least I've all ready met the Grangers having convinced them to let their daughter to go back to the school, though the Dursleys… Are you sure you wouldn't rather take care of them?"

"You have a little over two weeks before I will expect you at the school, what else would you possibly do with your time? I would never presume to take that challenge away from you," the headmaster replied, a hint of mischief in his tone.

"I should have known you would impose upon my last bit of free time I had between now and then. I do have plans to meet with Harry during the Hogsmeade visit. In fact, if you would do me the service of playing messenger and forward this to him, I would be grateful."

"Of course. Don't tell him about coming to Hogwarts, I think I would like for it to be a bit of a surprise. Now, if you will excuse me, the hour is growing late, and I still have a meeting with the head boy and head girl this evening. Thank you for the tea, it was quite marvelous, you'll have to tell me where you found that particular brandy, it is quite tasty. I think it would go well with the scones Dobby whips up for me. Please owl me if you run into any troubles. I would suggest you floo your things to Grimmauld, and I'll have them transferred to the school when your room is ready. Thank you for your time," and with that, the headmaster was gone.

Remus was left with his thoughts as he puzzled this new turn of events. With a smile, he started planning what items and supplies he would need in order to 'mentor' the Trio. It would be good to be back at the school, it was a comforting place, making one feel safe within its walls. He'd be able to more closely associate with Harry without waiting for the owl to fly between Hogwarts and his home, and it was also a reprieve from the busy work Dumbledore had been assigning him lately. This was definitely something useful for him to be doing, even if he was leery of teaching them about the dark arts, but the headmaster was right, they need to be prepared for anything.

**

* * *

AN**: A huge thanks to my reviewers, Rane2920072, and Raspberri13 your comments make me smile and give me warm fuzzies that I'm not completely screwing up the story. Hopefully you guys will continue to enjoy it 

A big thank you goes to Elbereth Gilthoniel for reading and reviewing all the chapters in close to one go. I thought my email was spammed with review alerts, which made my day! Thanks for reading even though this isn't a R/H story, I don't think I could write the pairing because I know that JKR has plans for them. In response to chapter 7's review, I'm American too, and I know that most students aren't as extreme as I had them depicted, I like to think that the DADA professor is letting a few 'bad eggs' color her opinions on the American culture as a whole, wrong though she may be.

A huge thank you to BrennaM, who didn't review, but worked with me on a very evil event for later in the story. Truly, in light of her diabolical side I'm not sure I am fit to be writing the prequel, she's a very inspiring muse and a tough act to follow...or is it lead into? I just wish she would update soon!


	11. Chapter 10

Hermione was sitting in the empty common room during lunch, trying to sneak in an extra half-hour of studying before potions. Her conversation with the headmaster was ever on her mind the past few days, as well as the argument with Harry weeks ago when she'd made the facetious comment regarding Occlumency. She'd taken to writing out her schedule, adding in the amounts of time dedicated to homework and revising. She then added her prefect duties, which had mysteriously been altered back to her original arrangements, definitely not something she was going to question too closely feeling that Dumbledore likely had a hand in the change. She then attempted to puzzle out where she could squeeze out two or three hours a week to devote to learning how to block off her mind. Dumbledore may have wanted her to drop a class, but it wouldn't really aid the mission to get Professor Snape to take her on as a pupil for this extra curricular activity. Even if she did drop Astronomy, she _had_ given the headmaster's request due consideration after all, the professor still had classes to teach, and secrecy was of the utmost importance.

She also suspected that if she did as Dumbledore requested in order to gain the headmaster's approval, it would not gain the Potion Master's good graces, not that she was entirely certain that he was in possession of good graces to start with. He would probably sneer at her and remark on the headmaster's favoritism of the "Insufferable Know-It-All' and how it did not obligate him to extend the same treatment to her. Treatment that would likely result in a waste of his valuable time. He'd probably also point out that her friend, 'the Great Harry Potter' had failed under his tutelage, a statement he would utter in a sneer complete with curled lip and glowering countenance. He'd then continue to illustrate his objection by bringing up the fact that she had been reduced to tears a number of times over the past years by his truthful, yet brutal criticisms and that she was likely unable to school her emotional state to focus on her mental protections.

She'd have to concede that particular point, lately she had been rather…temperamental when it came to certain members of her peer group, but she was starting to come to grips with their mistaken ideas as they pertained to her social life. She'd even admit that her over-reactions had only fueled the gossip surrounding her. If she stopped reacting, the rumors would likely shift to something more entertaining, if equally erroneous in nature. Next she'd be hearing that she was a jilted lover, and that Harry and Ron had taken up the torch for one another…

But the problem currently before her was to get Snape cornered privately so that she could voice her request. She glanced at her watch, suppressing a mild oath. Being late to potions was not going to endear her to the snarky man at all. She'd be lucky if she made it to class before he stormed into the classroom, robes billowing. She scrambled for her bag and dashed out of the room, slamming the portrait in her haste, earning her an incensed, "Really! How rude, one does not slam portraits girl!" from the Fat Lady.

Hermione didn't even turn as she called out her apology, focusing instead on the nine flights of stairs she had to descend to reach her potions class. Why there was a sub-level under the dungeons was an enigma, but that was the location of her Advanced Potions course. She managed to half skid, half run to the door, panting from her exertions but thankful that the door was still open, signaling that she arrived before her professor. The rapid slapping of her shoes on the stone corridor had alerted the class of a late arrival, so it was only natural that all eyes were trained on the doorway as she stepped through. Their regard caused her cheeks to flush, but it was the venom-laced voice that uttered, "five points from Gryffindor for running in the hall, Miss Granger," that caused her cringe and the heat of embarrassment to color her ears and neck.

But he didn't stop there, instead continuing to add to her mortification with, "I suggest that you take your seat before I am forced to give you detention as a remedy for your tardiness." And as though he commanded the signal to start classes, the bell rang, making her late by his standard because she was not in her seat and ready for the afternoon's lesson.

She squeaked and shifted to her seat, the professor hard on her heels as the door slammed with a bang. Merlin knew she didn't have time for detention, and what type of example would she set if she, a prefect, received detention? Detention…it would give her an opportunity to approach Snape, but there was no assurance that he would oversee her punishment. He could fob it off to Filch or any number of the teachers. Professor Sprout probably needed help getting the green houses and all the plants in them secured for winter, or she could end up in the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid, much like first year, only without Harry or Neville to keep her company.

She shot a sidelong glance at Harry, who was her partner in advanced potions. He must have sensed her regard because he flashed her a quick smile of reassurance before applying himself to taking notes from the blackboard. Hermione followed his lead, noting with half her attention that they were going to be brewing a healing draught while the other half was wrestling over whether learning Occlumency was worth another detention on her record or not. She chanced another glace to the boy sitting next to her, taking in the furrowed brow, the slightly more rested look in his eyes and the rigid posture he always had when in the dungeons. She scratched a few more sentences before making up her mind.

The rest of potions passed by quickly, for all that it was a double session and the Professor seemed to be in rare form where his temper was concerned. She took her sample vial as well as Harry's to deposit on his desk, thankful that both potions were the right color and viscosity.

"Three points, Miss Granger, for sloppiness." When she was about to voice her protest he barked out, "The label is crooked and the handwriting is barely legible. Uniformity and conscientiousness is the expected standard, not the exception in advance potions, you would do well to remember that. Oh, and five points from Mr. Potter for being too arrogant to turn in his own assignment. You may inform him of it since you seem to relish being his personal servant."

She suppressed her desire to snarl back, this was a teacher after all, and one whom she'd attacked with a disarming spell in third year, so she all ready had a dismal track record where he was concerned. The fact that her actions in saving Sirius that night bilked him out of his Order of Merlin was also a mark against her, whether he knew it or not, surely he suspected at least. She reminded herself that she needed his help, and for that, she must give him the respect he was due. And he was due some acknowledgement for the precarious situation he was in, a double agent for Dumbledore who must tread carefully to avoid discovery. However, knowing that fact, and being able to repress the surge of temper at his treatment, were two different things entirely.

But who was to say that he wasn't possessed of a naturally sour disposition. Voldemort or not, he might still treat students in the same manner as he presently did. Or he might not, and she wondered what sort of man he would be if Voldemort were defeated. From what Harry said, he was nasty when he was a teenager, but James and Sirius had provoked him in the pensieve memory. There was also the knowledge that Snape's dad seemed to be foul and domineering and that he also was lonely in his adolescent years, things she knew from Harry confiding to her about the images he'd seen the one and only time he'd shielded against the professor's use of Legilimens. She also knew that she was not to be in possession of such information, and if Snape knew that she knew, not only would Harry no longer be a threat to You-Know-Who, but she would also find herself on the business end of the ex-death eater's wand, probably oblivated to the point where she had no recollection of the Wizarding world's existence.

At any rate, she decided it was a puzzle for another time. She shouldered her bag as she made her exit, the Slytherin and Hufflepuff sixth years waiting to enter for their final class. It was then that Hermione saw her opportunity and took it. There stood Pansy, hanging on Malfoy's shirttails, simpering up at him while he had an expression of patent boredom as he waited for the rival house members to exit the dungeon.

"Well, well, if it isn't the bloody mudblood." It was Pansy's favorite insult to fling her way whenever possible, though it was going a bit stale from two weeks worth of use. It used to garner open laughter from her housemates, but now it only resulted in a twist of lips that barely acknowledged the insult's delivery, and that was as far as their amusement went.

Naturally she had to retaliate, "And here I thought Slytherins were reputed to be cunning, but that couldn't possibly be the truth if you lack enough intelligence to find something new to insult me over."

"Slut!"

"Bitch!" God, she'd wanted to say that since eavesdropping on the conversation in the loo.

"Ugly, good for nothing Mudblood!"

"There's that word again," she said shaking her head, "Let's try something original shall we?" She paused, visually inspecting the girl before her, repressing the urge to circle the girl like a shark, using words and her critical stare instead. "You may have a body to die for, Pansy, you have a face to defend it as well…" She watched in satisfaction as the dark haired Slytherin puzzled through the meaning of the insult, finally coming up with the fact that she'd just had it inferred that her face was repellant enough to keep people away from her slim body. And it had struck a nerve with the girl, as she was aware of being called pug-faced behind her back.

She drew her wand, dropping the name calling in favor of a tangible form of retaliation. Pansy took a page from Malfoy's book and snapped her wand to cast a Densaugeo hex. And Hermione in turn used her wand, flicking the end up as she'd practiced in Defense Against the Dark Arts using the Strepho shield to protect herself. As in her Defense class, the hex bounced off, rebounding on the unfortunate Slytherin due to the Gryffindor's control over the barrier, yet another skill practiced during the class. It hit Pansy, who did not dodge in time, her teeth beginning to lengthen, causing Harry, whom Hermione had forgotten about completely, to muffle his laughter behind his hand."

"Congratulations," came a cold voice from behind, "you've just secured yourself a date with three pounds of boomslang skin and sixty-odd rat corpses…detention Miss Granger!"

She turned to find that Professor Snape was standing in the doorway behind her. She turned a bit green at the idea of rat corpses, and wondered what she'd be harvesting. "W-what time?" she managed to get out.

"Eight o'clock, sharp."

She ducked her head in response, grabbing Harry by the arm and beating a hasty exit before her friend could object to the fact that she got detention for defending herself when Pansy, who had attacked her, managed to escape with no consequences. Not that engorged teeth was exactly an attractive addition to her features. Mission accomplished, one detention with Snape.

* * *

She timed the end of her rounds to place her near the dungeons. At some point in the afternoon, it had dawned on her that she hadn't thought her tactics out very thoroughly. She realized that while she could never be in the Slytherin house, she did need to consider their philosophy. They, as a whole weren't evil per se; neither did they do anything without some personal gain. If she wanted him to mentor her, she had to figure out something to bring to the table as a bargaining chip, something that would entice him to agree to her request. 

She had given it consideration, and decided on three points to present. She, Ron and Harry all knew of his dealings with Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix, so in order to protect himself in case one of them were captured, she should learn Occlumency and teach it to the boys in turn, thereby ensuring that his position remained unknown among the death eater ranks. Secondly, the best way to meet for the lessons would be detentions, and she figured that he would delight in giving her distasteful, disgusting tasks to perform as penance for taking up his time. The only way to make the deal sweeter would probably be if she were Harry, instead of his female friend. Lastly, though she was loath to be responsible for more house point deductions, it would be perfectly reasonable for him to remove points for her failed attempts at deflecting his mental intrusion.

It was entirely feasible that Gryffindor would lose the house cup this year, and that the fault would lie with her and her idealistic notions of helping Harry… And that only served to remind her of Dumbledore's words about going to great lengths to protect one another, which brought her back to the task at hand. Hermione took a deep, steadying breath before pushing open the door to her potions classroom, eyes immediately seeking out her professor in position behind his desk, grading a pile of scrolls.

He looked up at her entrance, "You may start with the boomslang, I want it shredded uniformly. The seventh years will be using it tomorrow in preparation for their NEWTs. After that, the rats." He said this with a raised eyebrow, and a tone that seemed almost pleased. "You will harvest the spleen, eyes, claws, testicles and tail. The corpses are in the container by the spare cauldrons. Stop wasting time and get started." He continued grading the paper before him, using liberal amounts of red ink to mark the errors.

Hermione located a knife and a cutting board, slicing the skin into equal lengths before pulling apart each segment with her fingers to render it shredded. It took her the better part of an hour and a half to wade through all three pounds, and not for the first time did she feel grateful for the fact that she maintained short nails instead of growing them out long and keeping them polished like Lavender and Pavarti. She moved on to the glass jar, finding it full of deceased rodent bodies preserved in noxious yellow liquid. Breathing through her nose was out, the smell making her nauseous, but if she took in air through her mouth, she could almost taste the fluid from the fumes as she fished the first carcass out. She chose to solve the problem by stepping away from the table she was working at and casting a quick bubble-head charm, ensuring that she had a supply of breathable air.

She tried to counter the turning of her stomach by pretending it was Wormtail under her knife, but she found that she couldn't actually make the required incisions if she believed the corpse was once human. She steeled herself and recognized the lifeless bodies for what they were, dead rats, and began the requisite cuts to get at each of the ingredients Snape demanded. Out of sixty-three rats, she managed to harvest 63 tails, 59 spleens, 120 eyes, 238 feet and 70 testicles. It was a fairly good haul, and she would challenge any other student to gather as much without damaging the delicate organs, though the whole activity left her feeling ill. It was a good thing she'd decided to skip dinner to avoid bringing it back up during detention.

She washed her hands thoroughly at the back sink, lathering twice and rinsing for two minutes before banishing the charm. Again, she fortified her will with a cleansing breath before making her way to the student desk directly in front of Snape. She waited a few minutes, still trying to gather the courage to broach the subject on her mind, glad that the man before her was distracted by his own efforts. Finally realizing that he was not going to address her anytime soon, likely assuming that she would just leave when her work was finished, she spoke to get his attention.

"P-professor Snape?"

He raised his onyx glare to meet her hazel eyes. "What is it Miss Granger?" He asked, just a shade too grouchy to be considered polite.

"I've finished the tasks you set for me." She hoped he wouldn't pick at her for stating the obvious.

"So you have, now get out." His eyes barely even ran over the products of her labor, ignoring the fact that she had taken care with the distasteful chores, even going so far as to set a preservation spell over each pile to keep it fresh until it was packaged for storage.

"Actually, th-there is something I wished to request…"

"Oh, by all means, what can I do for _you_?" he asked in his acerbic tone.

"I want you to teach me occlumency," she didn't bother to meet his eyes, instead focusing on the quill in his hands as she watched his grip tighten.

He brushed her mind, catching the stray thought that revealed her actions with Pansy were simply a ploy to get her in the dungeon with him, detention being a means to an end. In a whirl of moment that took her by surprise, he had drawn his wand and flicked the classroom door shut, muttering a locking charm and setting a silencing sphere so tight that it made her ears pop due to the change in air pressure. He turned his attention back to the student before him, his voice low and dangerous.

"You seem to delight in showing off all the information you've managed to absorb, even information that you are not supposed to be in possession of," he hissed. "I've heard about the headmaster forcing the head boy and head girl to rearrange the prefect schedules to allow you to complete the shift of your choice. Clearly, in your arrogance and presumption, you assume that everyone will bow to your whims. I barely tolerate your presence in my class as it is, waving your arm about like a self-important child, begging to be the center of attention. Why on Earth would I agree to spend more time with you? I've said it before, but clearly you've forgotten that you are nothing more than an insufferable Know-it-All. Is this merely another parlor trick for you to run and show off to your friends? How long before you would tell them that not only have you gained the ability to close your mind, that Professor Snape, the greasy git, taught you? Do you consider me some sort of lap dog, a pet to perform tricks at your command?" He spat the words his volume slowly rising as he towered over her while she sat in the student's desk.

Her head was bowed, his words tearing at her. Could he really believe such a thing of her, that she was that infantile? Hermione's eyes filled with a combination of frustration and dejection. This was not how she'd planned for the discussion to go, she was supposed to make her case in logical manner, and he was supposed to recognize that the idea had merit and hash out the details with her. It was disheartening to think that he was going to deny her request; he hadn't even given her the chance to explain her reasons behind the additional lessons. She jumped when he barked out, "Answer me girl! Is this some sort of game you think to play at? Does the Great Hermione Granger desire more cloak and dagger antics than even her two dunderheaded associates can provide her with? Do you get some schoolgirl thrill from the danger in confronting me, risking my exposure from your lack of discretion? What in the bloody hell do you think you are about Miss Granger?" Hard as steel, his words were harsh and calculated, exposing his belief that her proposition was nothing more than a passing amusement, some sort of folly on her part.

He didn't understand, she thought, biting back a sob even as tears spilled down her cheeks. She had to make him see. "I-I'm just t-trying to survive, Sir." She stammered out with a quavering voice, her throat tight. She closed her eyes a moment, waiting for some burst of outrage. When it didn't happen, she lifted her lids and fixed her gaze on his, unblinking, unwavering, all but begging him to use legilimens to read the truth in her mind. At another time, if it were another person, she might have been angry about the accusations and insults, but right now, in this moment, all she could feel was her fear for the future and her need for another tool to increase her arsenal for protection.

"I know it's dangerous, especially when anyone from your house could owl their parents, and I thought that if I made opportunities for detentions, it would be a sort of a cover…" She trailed off uncertainly, unsure of how much she should explain, whether she should even bother to lay her thoughts open for him to criticize on the matter, as it was clear that he was unwilling to take the time to teach her. When he made no response, she continued, "Maybe I was wrong in thinking that it would be enough of a reason, but don't you think it would be dangerous if I were caught? I know of your role with the Order and I don't want to jeopardize it."

This had him raising an eyebrow. "Do you honestly think that you would be allowed to live long enough to be questioned by the Dark Lord?" he questioned. "My, don't you think a lot of yourself?"

"No, I don't," she protested. "It's just that I'm close to Harry, and if you haven't noticed, most of the school thinks we're dating."

"Mind your tone Granger," he warned.

She hadn't even realized that she'd been a bit snide with her last remark; but she modulated her tone of voice accordingly. "I sort of thought that you would enjoy the idea of having a Gryffindor in detention on a regular basis to perform the less savory tasks that need to be done to secure potions ingredients." She stopped herself from using the words payback or revenge. "And if I fail to perform to expectation, you'd take house points off. And I know that Slytherins aren't known for selfless favors, but…" she couldn't think of what else to say to convince him to agree.

"Professor," she was down to begging at this point, dignity be damned. "I've read the book you gave to Harry. I've got the theory, but only you or Dumbledore can teach me the practical. You can test me during meals, classes, when you run across me patrolling. I swear this isn't an attempt to exact revenge on behalf of my housemates. There is a war brewing out there. I need your help to prepare. I know people will die." She sniffed after the statement left her lips, "I don't want it to happen, but it is inevitable. But it would be horrible if they died because I didn't do everything within my power to learn, and then pass my learning onto the one person who is slated to face Voldemort. I know you hate Harry, but do you want the wrong side to win?" She gambled by throwing Harry into the conversation at all, but she was grasping at straws. "Do you want to forever be a slave to the mark on your arm? I have to learn this to pass it on to Harry so that You-Know-Who won't be able to see what he is learning. Please Professor." She ended on a broken not, fresh tears spilling over again as she turned her eyes down. To her surprise, a linen handkerchief was pressed into her hand and a ghost of a sensation whispered over her hair briefly, as though his other hand had hovered over her head momentarily.

She snapped her head up in shock, thinking that she had imagined the whole thing, save that she was still clutching at the square of material. For an instant, no longer than it took to bat an eyelash, she saw the barest trace, a mere hint of compassion and understanding before it was gone. His face once again resumed its familiar bitter mask.

"Perhaps I've underestimated your comprehension of the situation," he commented, sounding like he was going to choke on the words, perhaps even an imperceptible amount of grudging admiration present in the words. His next declaration was delivered in the same cold, sarcastic drawl she remembered so well from class. "My terms, Miss Granger. You will outline, for me, the key points in the book you read, to be no longer than a foot and a half in length. You will serve detention again Monday, Wednesday and Thursday, where I will work with you on blocking off your mind. You will have your emotions in check at that time. Am I clear?"

"Yes sir, tha-," she began to feel a slight feeling of relief, but didn't dare show it for fear he would change his mind, with her luck, he would conclude that her tears were faked in the interest of getting her way when they had been a sincere display of her fear for herself, and those she cared about.

"Don't thank me yet, I am not through. If you cannot master the technique in those three evenings, we are at quits with the project." He raised a hand to forestall her objection. "…At quits until the holidays are over and a suitable amount of time has passed so that no one becomes suspicious when you incur another set of detentions. As much as I would enjoy having you decant bubotuber pus without dragonhide gloves and scrub out botched potions from the school cauldrons with your toothbrush, it would not take a genius to piece together that something more was going on. You, as a rule, avoid detention, even if your friends don't. Five points for your short sightedness." His sneer was back in place, fixed firmly on his thin lips.

"Once you convince me that you can defend against an expected mental probe, I will test you at times when you least expect it. For every attempt that you fail at, ten points will be docked. You should always be on your guard, you will not have the luxury of a warning should a death eater attack you. Lastly, you were correct in your assumption that a Slytherin never does anyone a favor without exacting a price. My price is this, you will refrain from waving your hand in the air at every question in my classroom, and secondly, you will limit your over-achieving tendencies on my essays to no more than four extra inches. Violate these provisions and I will cease all efforts to train you. Dark Lord or not, all my teaching will be for nothing if you cannot muster enough self control to follow my instructions. Are we agreed?"

She nodded mutely, knowing that she had no other choice. Raising her hand was a habit, one she could break with minimal effort on her part as Snape never called on her anyway. The second provision was a little more difficult, but she reasoned that if she really wanted to maintain her standard, she'd just start writing smaller, he said she couldn't exceed four extra inches, he never said her writing had to be a specific size on the paper. One of the few times that Wizarding use of parchment was to her benefit as muggle paper was usually pre-lined, dictating the range of space one's writing would fit in. Yes, she could do this and make it work. He dismissed her with a jerk of his head andbringingdown the wards he'd erected before moving back behind his desk to finish grading his papers.

* * *

He watched her bolt through the door before slumping and pinching the bridge of his nose. Severus berated himself for taking on a task that guaranteed him several hours in the presence of the Gryffindor prodigy. Likely she'd have a slew of questions prepared for Monday, but he could hardly refuse her request once he'd looked into her eyes and seen the genuine fear, fear that should not have been present in any sixteen-year old girl's eyes. On the other hand, it was better for her to be aware of the jeopardy she could find herself in rather than her prancing around like a empty headed bint, begging for the likes of Rudolphus or Lucius to snap her up from off the street one day. 

She wasn't stupid at least. He could tell she'd put at least some thought into how to approach him, but she'd never be a Slytherin. She lacked the calculated ruthlessness, and she'd talk, thinking that silence was an indication that she should volunteer information. But on the other hand, she was passionate when she believed what she was speaking about, and adept at hitting sensitive marks. Her insult to Pansy was rather subtle, the twist of words targeting something the girl was sensitive about, and then adding injury to the insult because it took her a minute or two to actually figure out the meaning of the remark. And she hit him in a tender spot also, he wanted nothing more to be rid of the dark mark himself, and she'd keyed into that.

It would be in his best interest to train her, in order to cover his own arse. As Hermione had pointed out, she knew he was a double agent, and that would spell bad news if anyone found out. Weasley was surrounded by a family full of Order members, and Potter had Dumbledore keeping a phoenix-eye on him, she would be the weak link, though he had not heard anything at the last meeting about her being a target. Still, he hadn't lived this long by leaving things up to chance, why start now? He just hoped that she benefited from his efforts and applied herself more diligently than Potter had last year, otherwise he'd suffer another round of migraines with nothing to show for it. Bloody Hell, what had he gotten himself into?

**

* * *

AN: **Would have been up sooner, but I had a problem logging in to FFnet, so I'm (as usual) late. Thank you to BrennaM, who pointed out my chapter labeling snafu. Obviously I have as much trouble counting as I do being on time for posting chapters. Hugs to Raspberri13, Rane2920072, and Elbereth Gilthoniel, complements will get you everywhere... 


	12. Chapter 11

She woke in her bed with a start, a whispered name escaping her lips, then forgotten before she even heard it. Her internal clock assured her that it was still quite early, and a sweep of the room confirmed that her dorm mates were still asleep. Her alarm clock showed the time to be 4:13, meaning that she would have the communal bathroom to herself for another two hours at least before the other girls woke up. She could indulge in a hot bath, then focus on getting ready for the trip to Hogsmeade with Ron.

Hermione was actually looking forward to the trip today, having a few items to purchase, potions ingredients, extra parchment, scrolls and some quills. She remembered that she couldn't talk about schoolwork, which meant classes were out also. Ron probably wouldn't be too keen on entering a bookshop, unless she consented to follow him into Dervish and Bangs. Not something she wanted to do, but if she made it into the bookstore first, she could buy a book to read while he drooled on the latest quidditch gear. She could also get some ideas of what to get her friend for Christmas.

She had decided to take a little more time with her appearance today, wanting to make a clear distinction between Hermione 'the swotty bookworm' and Hermione 'a girl attractive enough for guys to ask out'. The former was the friend of Harry Potter, the latter being the inner female that Lavender and Pavarti despaired ever seeing, but she did exist, and that was whom Ron was escorting to the Wizarding village… Provided that he kept his part of the bargain. If he didn't, she could always join Harry at the Three Broomsticks and visit with Remus.

* * *

"I know I'm not a raving beauty, but it's like people forget that I'm capable of being a decent looking witch," she complained when two more fourth years stared at her. It was a little gratifying, sure. Every young woman enjoyed having boys, and men for that matter, give an appreciative once over. This, however, was a bit ridiculous, it was like she had suddenly sprouted wings or something, when in reality she'd just twisted her wild mane back into a braid, applied a bit of gloss to her lips and added some mascara to accentuate her lashes. She'd left off her robes but kept the cloak and muffler, and while her jumper was slightly more fitted than usual, it wasn't indecent.

"Cut them some slack Herm, they're fourth years and didn't have the privilege of seeing you at the Yule Ball during the tournament," Ron pointed out with a cheeky grin.

She turned her attention to her friend in mock amazement. "Not only was that a sweet thing to say, but you actually made it sound smooth!"

"Thanks, I am the suave Weasley of the family after all." He puffed his chest in a Percy-esque pose, tossing his head as though he had Bill's long locks.

She barely suppressed the urge to roll her eyes, the banter was enjoyable and she wanted to see if she could fluster him, just to watch his face turn red. "Must have been your father's doing," she commented idly.

This gave him a bit of a pause. He turned his head from the jaunty angle to look down at his friend. "We were talking about me. What does my father have to do with anything?"

"You obviously inherited your silver tongue from your father. How else could he have talked your mum into having seven children?"

He stuck out his tongue trying to determine if the color had changed. She laughed, "Muggle expression, it means that you are a smooth talker."

"I'd like to think I'd developed the talent to chat a girl up on my own, Dad's too focused on muggle stuff to sit down and teach me anything useful like that," he remarked.

"But, that would imply that you've practiced, and I've never known you to practice for anything other than quidditch." A gleam of amusement danced in her eyes.

"I've chatted plenty of girls up!" In his usual Weasley way, he rose to the challenge, without quite thinking of the words spilling out of his mouth. "Hannah, Susan, Katie, Lavender, Padma…" He snapped his mouth shut, realizing that he was providing her with a laundry list of the girls he'd snogged. He narrowed his eyes at her, causing her to choke on her laugh. "That wasn't very nice 'Mione."

"No, I don't suppose it was. But it was funny," she replied with a grin. She slid closer to his lanky body, leaning in to give him a hug. "Don' be mad," she pulled back and hooked her arm through his. "Besides, you'd have to have done something suave to get Padma of all people to let you near her again after your behavior toward her at the Yule Ball."

"Actually, it was a bit more calculating than smooth talking. Fred sent me some titmouse toffees and I conveniently happened to be around when she ate one. I also happened to know the counter charm and she was so grateful that the whiskers were gone that she kissed me. I just figured that I'd go with it, and she didn't object… And 'Mione, don't you think it's a little odd that I'm talking with you about some other girl when I'm supposed to be trying to figure out the best way to get a snog session in with you?"

She made a non-committal noise, "I suppose I could take the initiative…Again." She continued in her overly logical tone, "I mean, everyone says chivalry is dead, and I am all for equal rights. I could chat you up a bit if you want. Ohhhh Ron, you're so big and fit…" She ran a hand up his arm as they walked down the street. "Or perhaps I should take a page out of your book, set up a prank and save you from one of your brother's creations. You'd kiss me out of gratitude wouldn't you?"

"Depends on the prank," he rejoined. "I'd probably be more willing if you saved me from a man-eating acromantula, probably go so far as to thank you with a nice shag despite what it would do to my reputation." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, even as the bridge of his nose started to turn pink.

This caused Hermione to break out laughing, then try to suppress her humor, resulting in a noise that resembled a 'snerk', before she gave up, nearly doubling over from her own thoughts.

"What's so funny?" he asked, trying to make sense of his friend's sudden mirth.

"I don't…don't think," here she gasped,** "**that you want to know."

"Yes, I'm pretty sure I do."

"It's just…" she giggled anew.

"Just what? Bloody hell 'Mione, spill it already!"

"Th-the image o-of you…Oh God! Did you proposition Harry in second year after he saved you f-from Aragog's spiderlings? You left that bit out when you told me the story…" She doubled over again, clutching at her stomach as a new though occurred to her. "A-and to think your mum believed that **_I_ **was a scarlet woman when it was her son the whole time…"

She dared a glance at the red head, finding his face to be completely flushed and his mouth slack in disbelief. "H-how did you know?"

That shut the bushy haired teen up as she closed her mouth with an audible snap and her teeth clacked together with force. She took her turn to look a bit dazed by the notion before her eyes narrowed shrewdly. "You almost had me, I'll give you that." She shook her head, "I've got this notion that if it were the truth, you'd both have told me before now. Not only that, but I'd think that you'd be able to discuss it without turning so red that I can't even see your freckles." Hermione smiled. "Pity though, it wouldn't be completely unreasonable if you were…" She trailed off in thought, barely realizing that they wandered beyond the shops and had turned off to head toward the Shrieking Shack.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ron's face was a mix of confusion and injured pride from being insulted.

"Well, you do have all those brothers, it stands to reason that one of you won't be bringing a **_wife_** to the Burrow on the Holidays."

"Why would you think it was me?" confusion won out.

"You are the youngest son after all, and it would certainly make you stand out in your mother's eyes." Hermione dared an amused glance at the boy, her eyes dancing in amusement again.

"Really not the kind of attention that I want from mum… I can just hear her now…" He grimaced with the memory of his mom's voice going shrill.

"Think of how scandalized Percy would be," she pointed out.

"True, but still not enough incentive to be **_that_** way. The fact remains that I'm a little more fascinated by things that make girls look like girls."

"Only a little?" she asked with an arched brow, crossing her arms beneath her breasts.

He tugged on one of her curls. "Herm…" Ron whinged slightly.

"Oh good Ron, that's a great way to convince me that you're all manly and stuff."

"Works for Malfoy doesn't it? 'Just wait till my father hears about this!'" he said in a fair approximation of the blonde's haughty tone.

"He's not my idea of masculinity," she scoffed, hoping that he wouldn't be able to tell that she was lying slightly. He was cute, in a pretty boy who wears eyeliner sort of way. "He's a bouncing ferret, not date material." Because nobody could compete with the git's ego, not to mention the likelihood that one would have to fight for use of hair care products.

"That's for sure." He managed to move from her side to face her. "I suppose I could prove to you how much I don't like blokes." He backed her up until she could feel her back brush up against the rough bark of a tree.

Hermione looked around, feeling a bit sheepish that she'd been oblivious to their surroundings, mere yards away from the fence around the shack. "I didn't really believe that you did," she murmured, waiting for the tingle of anticipation to hum through her body and center in her stomach. She knew what was going to happen what with Ron crowding her personal space.

"Still, I wouldn't want to leave you harboring any doubts…" He leaned in, his hands lifting to cup her face. He had to stoop, given that his friend was a good eight inches shorter than he was. Still, he took the time to look into the brown depths of her eyes before his lids closed and he pressed his lips to hers.

The tingle never came. Not even when she parted her lips slightly and dipped her tongue past his momentarily. They both pulled back, focusing on the dusting of snow rather than meeting each other's eyes.

"I…er…" Ron coughed, trying to figure out what to say. He knew his cheeks were red again, it was a Weasley curse, but he was pleased to note that hers were tinged pink also.

"I…" she too had troubles voicing her thoughts. She wanted to spare his feelings, he was her friend after all; she didn't want things to get all weird and awkward. The fact that he hadn't leaned in for a second kiss, or even reacted much to her own exploration lead her to believe that he wouldn't be crushed if that was the last time they ever locked lips. "I…that is, we…you didn't feel anything did you?" her tone came out sounding hopeful, she just hoped he interpreted it properly.

"I…No." he admitted, being truthful, but unsure as to whether it was the correct response or not.

"Merlin be praised," she sighed with relief.

"Hey!" indignation filled the word, he may not have been attracted to her like that, but she didn't have to be so happy about it.

"No, it's not like that, I just…" she trailed off. Her only basis for comparison had been Victor, and that wasn't a topic that inspired civil conversations with Ron.

"Feels a bit wrong? Like something's missing?" he offered.

"Yeah, there was no zing."

"Zing? Is that how women describe it?"

She blushed darker. "Not exactly," that was how she described it though. With Victor, there had been a lightheaded sensation coupled with warmth seeping through her body and centering in her navel, just like she'd gotten when she'd finished off a screwdriver at a dinner party a couple years ago.

She had innocently mistaken the harmless looking drink for her own glass of orange juice, gulping it down without a second thought. Apparently, vodka was a nearly flavorless alcohol when mixed in the proper proportions with fruit juice. When the guest in question went in search of his missing drink, she'd confessed to her mum what had happened. She had been feeling guilty and fearing the disapproval of her parent for her slight inebriation. To her surprise, her mum only laughed quietly, a testament to the fact she'd been tipping a bit too much wine herself. She remarked on the zing that hard alcohol could pack to one unaccustomed to it's effects, then advised her daughter to have some water and make sure she knew where the ladies room was just in case she was going to be sick as they had not eaten supper yet. Ever since her experience with Victor, she'd thought a kissing should involve some sort of 'zing'.

There was no 'zing' when she kissed Ron, no sudden spear of warmth, beyond the normal, everyday affection that she felt for her friend. She then realized that she'd been woolgathering, and Ron, for once in his life, was patiently waiting for elaboration on her answer. "Not exactly," she repeated herself, but continuing this time with, "muggles, at least in the books I've read…"

"I can't believe this, you've read books about it?" he interjected, sarcasm coloring his words.

Her face, which was recovering from her previous blush, turned pink again. "Can it Ronald, I borrowed one of mum's romance novels when we were in France for a dental conference."

"Why didn't you just bring Hogwarts, A History, or your Arithmancy book or something?"

She shot him a glare. "Yes, I can just imagine what would happen if room service were to happen upon a book with moving pictures, or one where equations rearrange themselves to demonstrate the proper way to balance each side. Give me **some** credit, would you? It was the only thing available, and I wouldn't have even had that if mum hadn't purchased them from the hotel's gift shop."

"Very well," he conceded with an ill-disguised grin. "What did these great tomes of knowledge impart?"

"Typically, the author describes 'it' as violins playing, or fireworks…or my personal favorite, magic in the air…" she giggled. "I admit, they are rather misleading and completely ludicrous, but I know there's more involved than simply pushing one's lips against someone else's."

"Done much snogging yourself there, Herms?" he teased, watching with satisfaction as the blush moved from her cheeks to her entire face. Then it occurred to him, "Just how many chaps have you kissed anyway?" His eyes narrowed, feeling a bit jealous at the prospect that maybe she didn't think he measured up.

"What's it to you?" she fired back, "I thought we'd established that we are not interested in each other like that."

"I still have an interest, as your friend and surrogate brother of sorts. Just answer the question."

She snorted. "So now you've appointed yourself a member of my family, as if you didn't have enough siblings to begin with! I've kissed less than Ginny, why don't you hover over her and give her your much needed protection."

"Don't change the subject, we are talking about you. She's got five other brothers to look after her, you don't, now talk!"

"Three! Are you happy now?" She broke eye contact under his constant regard. "Fine! Four if you count giving Harry harmless pecks on the cheek."

"Okay, Harry, and I know about Vicky."

"Victor, Ron, Victor."

"Who else?"

"God Ron, you want a name?"

"In the interest of fairness," he slung an arm around her shoulder, pulling her in the direction of the Three Broomsticks. "I mean you did wrangle a list of names out of me after all…"

"You volunteered those with very little effort on my part. Besides, it's embarrassing…"

"Hermione, I'm your friend, how could it possibly be that bad?"

"Because I'm 16 and I have less experience than your little sister!" she hissed, mindful of all the other people walking down the street. "Aside from you, there's only been Sigmund. If you were any kind of friend, you'd drop it, the whole thing was a ruddy embarrassing situation." She felt like her face was on fire.

"Wait a tic. Who the bloody hell is Sigmund?" Ron tightened his arm around her shoulder.

"A muggle boy. Subject closed!" Hermione tried to lengthen her strides.

He retaliated by angling his forearm under her chin, a sort of headlock without being obvious in order to save her some dignity. A persistent and stubborn witch Hermione may be, but she could not compete with the greater size and strength of Ron. "When did this happen?"

She sighed, truly tired of the conversation topic. She'd rather be listening to quidditch talk. "Honestly, does it really matter?"

"Yes, I rather think it does. You wouldn't hedge around it so much if it didn't."

"Maybe I'm hedging because it was an experience that I'd rather leave in the past and forget."

"Too late, Weasley curiosity you know, it demands satisfaction. You could tell me now, or I could owl my brothers for some of their honesty horehounds. They haven't perfected the flavor yet, a bit on the bitter side instead of minty, but the candy still causes the truth to come spilling out."

"You're bluffing. That's too close to veritaserum, and the ministry controls that stringently. There's no way your brothers could market them."

Ron's grin became quite toothy at this point. "I told you already, it's not perfected. No matter what you think of them, they do take their business seriously enough that they wouldn't sell sub-standard products. They may not have taken NEWTs, but they aren't idiots either."

"Right, the twins, serious. Second sign of the Apocalypse right there." She lifted her hand to make a checkmark on her invisible list.

"What's the first sign?" he asked, loosening his hold a bit in his distraction.

"You outscoring me on NEWTs next year of course! If that happens, I know the world is ending, and I'll Avada myself to avoid witnessing it first-hand."

"Small chance of that happening…" he pointed out good-naturedly.

"You know, if you just studied more, there's no limit to what you could do. It's simply a matter of applying…" she slipped back into her lecture mode, starting to walk to the Three Broomsticks.

"Hermione, you are violating the terms of this date. No nagging remember?" They rounded the corner, and he held the door as she crossed into the crowded building.

Her eyes scanned the room, focusing on the quieter corners where Harry would be most comfortable and out of the general public's eyes. "Well there's Harry, we'll consider the 'date' over and you can talk all the quidditch you want."

"Deal, but don't think that I've forgotten that there's some mysterious guy in your past that you haven't told me about…"

"Shut up you prat!" she said, taking a swipe at his arm before moving to join her other friend.

* * *

The young man watched the mudblood and the Weasley prat make their way down the street. He turned from the window to face the liaison. The Weasleys were considered blood traitors, and this was yet another example of that fact. "She's not on the list to stay. She's going home for the holidays, and Potter and the Weasel whelps are staying at school. She'll be alone."

A robed figure stood in the shadows, mask in place and the hood pulled up. "I'll tell our Lord. He will be pleased by this news. Is there any other pertinent information?" The voice was muffled, yet cultured despite the attempt to disguise her identity.

"The Gryffindors are remarkably closed mouthed lately, but rumor around school has it that the mudblood and Potter are involved, intimately involved." A leering smile curled on the boys face. He wondered if she would scream if he cornered her one night on rounds, people of her ilk were only fit to be used, then discarded. Or maybe she'd roll over and spread her thighs begging for him to take her…

"Really?" the woman chuckled, "That is indeed useful information. I will be sure that our Lord knows, and likely you will be rewarded when you are permitted to join our ranks. It's time for you to leave now, join the rest of your peers so that none of them suspect. You will be contacted again when you are needed." She watched the eager boy sweep out of the room.

They were getting younger and younger as the years went by, and with youth, the less guile and cunning was exhibited. The boy was transparent, lusting after the body of a mudblood. Hopefully he would restrain himself and leave the Granger girl untouched until the Dark Lord made his wishes known. This could be an opportune chance to harm The-Boy-Who-Lived…

She took the time to strip off her robe and mask, shrinking and stowing them in her handbag before apparating back to the office. She'd have to wait before paying a visit to Lucius and her Lord. Five more hours of taking that imbecile Fudge's dictations before she could pass on her information, Merlin how she hated her job!

* * *

Draco stopped by the owl post in Hogsmeade. It wasn't easy shaking off Crabbe and Goyle, and lucky for him, Blaise had a make-up potion to brew with Snape, so he was finally alone. The missive he received when he gave his name at the counter was light, one page on expensive stationary. The handwriting was all too familiar despite lacking the family crest. He didn't need a name at the bottom to identify who the writer had been.

_Draco-_

_The time has come for you to assume the responsibilities that come with being the Malfoy heir. There will be a celebration held in your honor over the winter holidays. You will be demonstrating your skill at rune work for someone who is most eager to witness your finesse and dedication. You are being accorded an opportunity to prove that the Malfoy name is still superior in deed as well as bloodline. I am certain that I need not remind you what the price of a less than flawless showing would be. Do not disappoint me with your efforts._

* * *

AN: Yes, I'm terrible, it's been months and I feel awful, particularly since I've had this written for ages and just needed to proof read it before posting. All I can say is that it may take time, but I have every intention of continuing the prequel, and Brenna has encouraged me in this. It goes without saying that obviously the whole story is AU, particularly in light of HBP. And as always, thank you to BrennaM who is my wickedly evil muse, as well as those who leave reviews. I'll do something a little more personalized next time I post, but I'm running late for work even as I post. And yes, I do have the next chapter written, so you shan't wait too terribly long for it to be posted. 


	13. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the wonderful world of Harry Potter or it's characters. I also do not claim to have definitive knowledge of the principles of Occlumency, but I did get this idea in my head, and it works out well for me, so don't burst my bubble!

**AN:** Also, thanks to BrennaM for her wonderful new chapter in 'The New Threat', it motivated me to put pen to paper again despite being dead tired from work, so future chapters are currently being written. Not to mention the ever-present maniacal laughter and dire predictions of evil being afoot! Thanks to the readers, specifically Rane2920072 who called me a goddess in her review and made me preen like a bigheaded fool for the rest of the day. What can I say? I am a slave to flattery, its good for my fragile ego.

* * *

The last class on Monday afternoon was finally over. Dinner was fast approaching, and Harry had dashed off to the library to rout Hermione out, trying to convince her that she didn't have to finish all her homework before going to the meal. Hermione insisted on completing her assignments anyway so that she wouldn't have to worry about lack of sleep while trying to finish them later on in the evening. Resigned, Harry had waited for her to scrawl the last three inches of her History of Magic essay instead of going back to the common room when she waved him off. Instead, he'd opted to lurk around her table, thumbing through several of her books, irritating her immensely. When finished, he helped her pack and escorted her down the hall, trying to make conversation. 

"I still can't believe that you have detention again! Why didn't you tell me and Ron before?"

"Honestly Harry, as if telling you two would have changed a single thing in the first place. Or if it did, it would have made you much more disrespectful toward Professor Snape during class, landing you in the same boat as me, and losing a bunch of house points," was her logical reply.

Harry in turn snorted. "Like you've got any room to talk! The way you were glaring at him when he reminded you of your appointment tonight, I'm surprised he didn't dock more points during class."

"Unlike you, I can time those things for when his back is turned. I'd think that by now you would have learned the skill, but obviously I was wrong." She sighed while shaking her head in a way that conveyed a 'where did I go wrong' sentiment.

"What did you do to end up with the pleasure of his company again tonight anyway?" Sarcasm was evident in his tone.

"Three more."

"What?" His jaw nearly dropped with shock and he stopped dead, thinking he'd misunderstood.

"I said, I have three more."

"What the bloody hell has gotten into you lately?"

"Don't have the faintest idea what you are talking about," she answered airily, continuing down the hallway.

"That's a load of bull and you know it, but if you, the great know-it-all, Hermione Granger, are going to pretend ignorance, allow me to enlighten you."

She rolled her eyes in response. "What a drama queen."

"From the girl who stormed into the common room and snogged Ron last week!" he laughed.

"I did not snog him, you exaggerate the situation too much." All she had to do was stick her nose in the air for her image to match her tone.

"Did too, not to mention that you ordered him to take you on a date." Harry decided that he enjoyed winding Hermione up.

"Are you sixteen, or six? I did not snog him, snogging involves tongues, and I didn't order him, I accepted the 'invitation' he extended to me a couple of weeks ago. You were there, remember?"

"You used your bossy voice."

"My bossy voice?" This caused her to shoot him an arch look. "Obviously you have too much time on your hands if you took the time to classify the tone of voice I use."

"I was playing chess with Ron." He held his hands up in self-defense, hoping to ward off any further lecturing.

"All the more reason to keep your mind on the game," she cut in.

"Oh come on, we both know he's going to win anyway. I can afford to let my mind wander."

"He always wins because you clearly cannot remain focused," she sighed.

"If I couldn't remain focused on the important things, I wouldn't be aware of the fact that you've avoided the question by turning the discussion around on me," he laughed down at her.

"What was the question again?" she asked, echoing Harry's chuckle.

"I'm not sure… Aren't you supposed to be the smart one?"

"Hang on now, I'm not responsible for knowing what's running through your little head. In fact, given that you're a teenage boy, I'd probably be disgusted by half the things running through your mind." At this, she mock shuddered in horror.

"Hey!" Harry elbowed her. "I'm not like Ron, who goes on about having Padma and Pavarti at the same time."

"Ewww… Harry!" Hermione attempted to cover her ears, failing when her messenger bag slipped off her shoulder to the crook of her elbow. "Don't tell me things like that! Not something I ever want to visualize."

"You're doing it again," he observed.

"Am not."

"Yes, you are. We were talking about you and your recent bought of insanity."

"I am not insane!"

"Maybe not, but you are acting like it," he pointed out.

"I resent that!" she wasn't sure where this conversation was going anymore, it seemed all over the place and slightly reminiscent of kindergartener bickering what with the 'am not', 'are too' element of the discussion.

"Resent it all you want, but you will explain yourself." He crossed his arms and pinched his lips tight, obviously trying to imitate Professor McGonagall, but the amusement in his eyes spoiled the effect.

"Nothing to explain, problem solved." She gave him a cheeky grin.

Not to be dissuaded, he railroaded his friend into a cubby by an old tapestry. He fixed her with a hard stare, wishing he had the power of legilimency to figure out what was going on in her mind. "Hermione, stop. Merlin knows you've been there for me, but you've been nutters lately, and I haven't seen you so… un-Hermione like before. Asking for jinxes, kissing Ron, detentions, waking me up in the middle of the night for a stupid book…Well maybe that last one is normal for you, but still. Not trying to corner you or anything, just…I'm worried about you."

"Comparing notes with Remus now?" she laughed, but it didn't last long when Harry refused to follow suit. "I'm stressed out is all, you guys are always saying that I'm mental. Now isn't any different you know," she offered as an explanation.

"But it is. Last year, okay with Umbridge and OWLs to study for and the DA, I could see why you were mental, I was feeling pretty mental too."

"Yeah, and a hysterical Cho and Voldemort playing with your head had nothing to do with it," she interjected.

Harry looked down, shuffling his feet uncomfortably, "Two points to you for that."

"Harry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to come out like that, and besides, neither situation was of your making anyway." Hermione kicked herself mentally and tried to backpedal from the thoughtlessness of her words.

"It's all right, really," he reassured her, "just something I would have expected Ron to say, not you." He shrugged, then pushed his glasses back up on his nose. "Tell me 'Mione, otherwise I'm going to think you're keeping secrets from me. You know how I feel about that…"

Hermione blinked. "It's not a secret Harry. I just know that you've been going through a lot. And now that you are dealing with some of it…" She trailed off, waving her hand to encompass all the issues he'd been faced with. "I had a talk with Professor Dumbledore the other day." Here she leaned against the wall, trying to relax, to become nonchalant, closing her eyes to avoid his green stare. "At some point it dawned on me that we aren't trained for war, and won't be if we stick to the school's curriculum, and I guess I sort of let my mind run wild with the notion. I've been trying to figure out the sorts of things that might be useful, but I don't really have any idea what I'm doing because I'm only sixteen. And if I think too much about it, I get scared, so I try not to think about it too terribly much except that I know it contributes to being unprepared. And that just makes me scared again… And I really don't want to go home for Christmas even though my parents aren't giving me a choice in the matter…And I can't shake the feeling that something bad will happen and I won't be here for you," she finished in a rush.

"Ron's right, no one person should be able to feel that much at one time." Harry ran his fingers through his hair, scratching at the nape of his neck.

"Perhaps you two can't but when have I ever done anything in halves? No, I'm either completely mental or completely sane." She tried to laugh it off, eyes still squeezed shut. "You'll probably have loads of fun over the hols since I won't be here to nag about studying."

"You kidding me? It'll be non-stop chess games peppered with Palm reading for Ron's divination homework. There's only so many times I can handle someone predicting a confrontation that holds the rest of my life in check until it happens. Trust me, we'll miss you." He reached out to give a friendly squeeze to her arm.

"You could always play a bit of Quidditch, there should be enough people who stay behind for that."

"Or I could study, just to make you proud of me."

Hermione cracked her eyes open and looked at her friend. "I'm proud of you anyway Harry. But if you really find yourself in need of something to do, I'd suggest that you work through your feelings about the headmaster." Her voice was quiet, carefully devoid of the 'bossy' tone.

"He hasn't come to talk to me about anything. It's just like last year where he avoided me at all costs." His tone turned slightly petulant.

"That was something else we sort of talked about the other day. No, not like that you prat," she said at Harry's glare. "There was no great divulging of your deep, dark secrets, or picking apart your actions. It started out because of me, and the fact that Marietta had changed my rounds for later at night. Professor Dumbledore noticed the change, as well as how tired I looked and then decided to invite me up for some hot chocolate and a chat. He does know about your nightmares, but he won't do anything about them." Hermione gave him a measuring look, waiting to see if Harry would comment, but he just stood waiting for her to continue. "He wants to help, but wants you to feel like you have choices and control over your life. He's waiting for you to be ready to go to him, because until you are ready, you aren't going to listen to anything he says. I think he's right, and deep down, if you really think about it, you know he's right too."

Harry sighed, "Yeah, I guess so. I'll think about going up to talk to him over the holiday okay? No promises, but I will try."

"Something else he reminded me of too, that you, Ron and I are stronger together than when we are apart."

"What's the big deal about that?"

"Just that we need to stick together and support each other is all. Which we all ready do anyway." Hermione smiled at him. "I mean look at it this way, I haven't been totally normal lately, and you made me talk to you about it. It's like we can't all be freaked out at once, we have to sort of take it in turns."

"So are you saying that today you go round the bend and I comfort you, then tomorrow we switch and I get to have a go at being nutters?" Harry smiled mischievously.

"Er, something like that, yeah," she confirmed, wondering what he was plotting.

"You know, this has got to be the stupidest conversation we've ever had," he pointed out.

"No, the stupidest conversation we had was over the summer when we debated on who was the best professor out of Snape, Binns or Trelawney. Remember, Snape won, hands down."

"Still can't believe you had me agreeing that he was the best of the three. Fine, it's the dumbest idea then," Harry announced.

"Well, today is your day to be strong for me. Tomorrow, when it's my day, I'll be logical and think of something better, okay?"

He huffed a petulant sigh. "Fine…rob me of my opportunity to have a go at running through the halls like a mad man. It's not fair to me, I don't like it."

"I wouldn't expect you to, and you can still run through the halls like a mad man. You could do it starkers for all I care, just don't get caught, and don't do it where I can see. I'd be scarred for life. At any rate, I feel better now, so you've done your job. Let's get dinner before Ron notices that we are late."

"Think we could get Ron to take a turn on being strong? Then we could both act like four year olds and make him sort everything out. It'd drive him up the wall, don't you think?"

"Sounds like a good plan to me, and since he's such a good friend, he doesn't have a choice. He has to be there for us." She giggled.

"You have to tell him though."

"Uh-uh, I'm crazy today, remember, it's your job."

"Bugger…"

* * *

Hermione didn't even make it the two steps through the doorway, and by then, it was too late to take preventative measures. She couldn't even find the professor, despite the fact that she knew he was lurking somewhere in the shadows of the darkened classroom. Her head throbbed with pressure, images from her conversation with Harry paraded behind the closed lids of her eyes. Hermione leaned back, grateful for the door jam digging into her spine, supporting her while she tried to push the intruder out of her mind. 

Just as she managed to muster enough power and energy to muscle the foreign entity out, the weight was gone. Her head was buzzing with the absence. The change was so sudden that she knew it was not due to any efforts on her part, but rather due to the professor acknowledging that she was not equal to the task of throwing him out. She finished entering the room, not bothering to voice the unfairness of his tactics. Would she really expect anyone who was preparing to rape her mind to announce their attempt first? Instead she moved down to the front row of desks, sitting down as she waited for the Potion Master's assessment.

"How… disappointing Miss Granger," he practically purred with pleasure at her failure, not sounding disappointed in the slightest as he emerged from the shadows to lurk behind his desk.

Hermione nearly bristled with indignation at the remark. But she hadn't expected to get it right in her fledgling effort, with nothing more than the fundamentals learned from a book. But she did have to admit that part of the failure was her own fault for entering the room without first collecting her thoughts and preparing for the hours ahead with someone she knew to be merciless in his dealings with her.

She did spare a grateful thought toward Harry for taking the time to make her talk about her stress. Who knew how relaxing the act of laughing really was. At any rate, having vented her concerns, even without picking apart and analyzing the causes, she was still more calm and self-possessed than she might have been when confronted with her own error.

"In your research on Occlumency, have you taken the time to review its diametric skill, Legilimency?"

"No Sir," she answered, vowing to remedy the situation as soon as possible. Something she should have done instead of going to Hogsmeade or listening to Harry recount his time with Remus at the Three Broomsticks. Yesterday had been spent writing the essay outlining the principles of occlumency.

"Pity that you, the insufferable know-it-all would fall so short in her academic pursuits. But perhaps because this is more of a hobby than a required subject, you do not see fit to apply yourself fully," he sneered.

"I am well aware that this is not a game Sir, and I do not intend to treat it as such," she retorted quietly.

He raised an eyebrow, smug expression still on his face. "Very well," he acceded, "I would hate to believe I was wasting my time on someone who was only interested in dabbling with developing this skill. Had you read up on the art of legilimens, you may have been aware that a skilled person can detect the presence of another, even when hidden from sight. Armed with this information, a diligent pupil would have been prepared for an attack." He smirked down at her, making a great show of crossing his arms in displeasure, which warred with her knowledge that he must have been thrilled to catch her out in failure. Not that she expected him to break out in spontaneous dance or anything, but the signs were there if you knew what to look for. He had glittering eyes instead of a cold mask, the trace of superiority present in the underlying snark of his usual teaching tone, a smirk instead of a frown.

Still, she didn't miss what he had said, or the message behind it. He was skilled enough to sense her presence outside the door. It also went a long way toward explaining why he had nearly caught Harry under the invisibility cloak on several occasions, and how the headmaster could virtually 'see' Harry and impart crucial pearls of wisdom when needed most. And Professor Snape had just implied that she, as a diligent pupil, would be expected to shield her mind even as she approached the room in the future. To do otherwise might incur his wrath, and thus give him an excuse to terminate the extracurricular training. She was subject to his indulgence in this matter.

"Wool gathering, Miss Granger? We are not even ten minutes into our time together."

"No Sir, sorry Professor." She felt disconcerted to be the sole focus of his attention. At least in his classes, she could allow her mind to process ideas and thoughts from start to finish while he stalked around to criticize the other students. She would have to stow her thoughts away for later as there was no other distraction for him in the room. She recalled the information she had read, putting the facts to use as she built up a defensive wall around her mind.

Professor Snape must have sensed her efforts, tilting his head slightly in narrow-eyed consideration before nodding with faint approval. Hermione watched him circle his desk, taking a seat and occupying himself with a stack of parchments. She'd opened her mouth to ask a question when the unmistakable press of his mind caused her to gasp. While it wasn't as surprising as the first time, the sheer force of his mind battering against hers bordered on discomfort, even as she gathered the strength to prevent his invasion. And yet, all her efforts did nothing to halt the inevitable breach of her defenses. Her mind was not yet disciplined enough, and his was hardened by years of pain, torture, and necessity.

Minutes after the battle of minds began, it was over with the professor as the victor. She saw a memory of Harry and Ron finishing a game of chess before turning toward the teacups, Ron waving his arms about and Harry smiling. Then his presence was gone, again withdrawn rather than repelled, leaving her with the onset of a very real headache.

Hermione rubbed her temples, waiting for the buzzing in her ears to dissipate again. "I thought the idea behind legilimency was that the legilimens didn't alert the victim to his presence by being more subtle than a hammer to the head." She opened her eyes, trying to focus on a knot in the worktable surface, unaware that she had spoken out loud until the answering retort was delivered.

"Since you arrived for tonight's session so woefully unprepared, I saw no need to waste the energy or effort required for subtly or finesse upon you," he hissed. "Like your friend, Mr. Potter, the direct approach seemed most appropriate for you as you are not ready to appreciate the finer nuances of arts involving the mind."

"I-I'm sorry Sir, I d-didn't mean to imply…" She blushed; mortified that she said something that would make the all ready surly professor even more hypercritical. She felt the light brushing sensation of butterfly wings against her thoughts, but didn't even try to build any barrier between herself and the older man.

"But you did imply all the same," he drawled in an oily tone. "I assure you that I could find your secrets and leave you unaware of it save for the idea of a daydream in your empty little head."

"I can feel you in my head right now." Her vision focused enough that she could lift her head and meet his eyes.

"Then push me out. You aren't even trying, and I need not use any attention to pick through your memories," he challenged irritably, resuming the task of marking student essays.

"I have a headache and my temples are throbbing," her tone carried a hint of whining, but it was the truth, and the discomfort was enough to distract her from her task.

"Excuses, Miss Granger?" He flashed a disturbing smile, his yellowed teeth making her wince.

"Not excuses Sir, just stating the facts." She brushed a few locks of hair out of her face, securing them behind her ear.

"Are you quitting Miss Granger?" his tone conveyed a very clear 'I knew she was too weak to succeed' message. Or perhaps she herself was being a bit over sensitive, but a challenge was a challenge, real or imagined.

"I am not quitting Sir," she retorted, her tone flippant.

"Well in that respect you differ from your other dunderheaded housemates at least. Now gather some of your thrice-damned courage, block your mind or quit wasting my time and get out." He snarled the last words.

Hermione narrowed her eyes, angry over the slur against her fellow Gryffindors and gave a firm mental shove without being aware of actually doing it. And as simple as that, she was alone in her head, still victim to her now throbbing temples.

"Fetch five of the school cauldrons, Miss Granger, and prepare them for use."

She jumped at his voice, confused by his order. "Professor?"

"You still have a detention to serve, Miss Granger. Surely you realize that punishment is implied when one serves detention? You ought to have something to show for your evening in my classroom. Contrary to what you may think about your pathetic attempts at occlumency, the idea is to provide an adequate cover for your time in my presence. As you were sniveling about a paltry headache mere minutes ago, you will brew several batches of the headache relief draught found on the chalkboard. I will fetch the ingredients for you since students seem to have sticky fingers when in my supply room." He watched for a reaction, but she didn't oblige him. "Well? What are you waiting fore? The cauldrons, Miss Granger!" he barked.

Hermione went through the motions of setting up the cauldrons, taking one to the sink and scouring it to remove the green remnants from a prior potions experiment. She checked over the instructions on the board, noting idly that it was one she had brewed in fourth year, and not too complicated. By the time she set flames to the appropriate heat under each cauldron, Professor Snape returned with an armload of ingredients, which he dumped into a pile. Given that he issued no further orders, she took it as a sign to begin preparing the potions. Always the methodical person, she began measuring out the ingredients, lining them up in front of each cauldron.

While measuring the water into the bottom of the fourth cauldron, she felt the sensation of fingers pressing in on her head. A quick look darted over her shoulder confirmed that Snape indeed was focused on her, trying to push through the defenses she swathed around her mind while measuring the other ingredients. She allowed herself a slight twisting of the lips, thinking that perhaps he thought she would let her guard down now that there was a task for her to perform. She continued pouring the water into the fourth cauldron, moving on to the fifth when he abruptly shoved into her head, abandoning all pretense of delicacy. His action caused her to slosh the water, dousing the flame under the final vessel.

She spun around, her head ringing with the movement, as she tried to glare at the potions master. And she would have were it not for the fact that her eyes were a bit blurred by the sight of Ron looming in for a kiss superimposed in her head. Embarrassment warred with irritation; it was a private moment, even if it had come to nothing! She knew that this whole exercise was going to be invasive to her privacy, but knowing something and actually experiencing it were two separate things. Her indignation was such that she managed another unconsciously rough shove against the invader, not enough to force him out, but enough to push him toward the slightly less personal memory of her Arithmancy class earlier in the day.

"Progress, Miss Granger… And yet, still sadly short of the mark. Your intent should be to force me out completely, not fumble for a less…amorous memory. And while you are standing there with your mouth hanging open, the liquid you measured into the cauldrons is boiling away. Ten points for your lack of diligence." He smirked at her, daring a response.

Hermione whirled back to the worktable, lip curling in anger. She reflected on the nerve of the man to deduct points for her understandable unsettled mental state. She counted to ten, carefully mopping up the spilled water and reigniting the flame under the fifth cauldron, measuring out the water, and then topping off the others so that they were all equal. She dropped in each ingredient, stirring the correct number of turns, moving on to the next pot and repeating the process in assembly line precision. The repetitive steps freed her mind to continue the mental preparations for Professor Snape's attacks.

Twice more he attempted to pry into her head, and twice more he succeeded, but without interrupting the creation of the potions. Learning from the first attack, the instant she felt him brushing against her wall, she would stop what she was doing and step away from the table. At this point, she was unwilling to give him an opportunity to dock more points if she botched any of the draughts. And the second time it took longer for him to breach her fortifications, yet he still managed to, and she imagined he wasn't even using a fraction of his full talent to do so. Still she figured one had to grasp at the smaller victories in order to stay motivated and keep moving forward.

A third and final trespass was made as she was bottling and labeling each of the potions. There was no tentative brushing, not even a gentle nudge that he'd been using before increasing the intrusion. By this time she was not only tired, but her head, still in pain, flared with a sharp pain behind her eyes. Wincing, she felt the walls crumble like sand, watched as Harry thrashed on the couch, calling out to his dead godfather, and crying as he flailed. Her memory of the night he mistook her for a death eater and resulted in her landing against the wall. It was too much, and while other things were simply embarrassing for Snape to know, this wasn't her secret to share. Not to mention that Harry would not want this man, of all people, to see him in such a vulnerable state.

It stopped without any warning, or so she thought. Then again, there was the sound of shattering glass and the professor was coated in the brownish liquid of the headache draught she'd been brewing. A look at his desk confirmed that she'd thrown not one, but two doses of the potion at him in retaliation, shards of glass littering the desktop. Hermione covered her mouth in horror, terror causing her to blanch and her eyes to widen comically. She watched the jaw of the professor twitch, the audible sound of teeth grinding reaching her ears. She dared not breathe and toyed with the idea that she should either run and never look back, or duck for cover under one of the tables.

His nostrils flared in annoyance. "Fifty points from Gryffindor Miss Granger." His voice sounded tight, as though he was keeping his temper in tight control. "If you ever seek to physically harm me when I'm assisting you in a project you requested, I…will…personally…have…you…expelled." Each word was deliberately bitten off.

She cringed, not only for the loss of points, but the fact that his voice had turned glacially cold, to the point that she'd wanted to find a cloak to put on to combat the drop in temperature from his words. The problem was the positively sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that usually alerted her to the fact that she had done something terribly, horribly wrong, mostly due to the professor's disapproval instead of his threat to toss her out of the school. There was nothing worse than an adult's disapproval in her actions. "Yes, Sir!" she squeaked. "I'm… I'm sorry Sir, but you have to understand," she rushed on hoping to get her justification out before Snape cut her off and ordered her out, never to return. "It's one thing to sift through the memories to get at me, but that is personal to Harry too, and you have no right to see those and use them against him! He'd die if he knew what you saw…" She stopped, seeing the flinty look in Snape's eyes.

"Just like Potter's field trip into my memories isn't it Miss Granger? He had no right to do that, and yet he did. What do you think the Dark Lord will try to do if he gets his hands on you? I suggest, foolish girl, that if you want to keep those memories private, you redouble your efforts to block your mind, or your friend will most certainly be dead if the wrong people see those memories. We are through tonight. You aren't completely hopeless, Miss Granger, yet neither is your progress is promising." The muscle in his jaw twitched as he bit back what were likely more acerbic comments.

"Yes Sir, will you permit me to return on Wednesday to resume my efforts?" She tried to sound meek, staring down at the floor for good measure.

"If you can control yourself. I hesitate to ask, but do you have any questions?" His tone was such that didn't invite her normal inquisitiveness, not that he ever did in the first place.

"Ummm, actually Professor, I had two." She waited for his tight nod before continuing. "Harry said that you used your wand to cast the legilimens spell on him during your sessions last year, and yet you didn't with me tonight, why is that?"

"Mr. Potter," his lips curled around the name with hatred, "has the benefit of the Dark Lord's protections, even on an unconscious level. You know why wizards use wands and that verbal invocations of spells are stronger than silent spells. Also, the headmaster suggested that I take a more structured approach, should I ever find myself teaching the skill of occlumency again. I am to start out slowly and work up to full use of my legilimens as my student improves. Do not get your hopes up for over achievement Miss Granger, you will not be mastering this anytime soon."

Which confirmed her assumption that he was not even using a fraction of his talent against her. Merlin, but she had a long way to go… "Why is it so painful? My head is aching and my ears are ringing, and in general, it's very uncomfortable."

Here the Potion Master smirked. "The pain is relative to the person experiencing it. You will eventually become accustom to the sensations, or learn to block others from getting into your head. The residual side effects stem from the fact that your mind has never been invaded by magic until now. Someone like your friend Potter, who lives with the echo of someone else in his mind is accustomed to the sensation of a presence constantly in his head. I would wager that if he defeats the Dark Lord, he will feel odd without the presence lurking in his mind, having never been without it in his conscious memory. You too shall toughen up as time goes on, if you don't, the death eaters that find you will use you and then dispose of you. I presume that is all?" Dismissal was evident in his voice.

"Yes Sir," she acknowledged, knowing that she had trespassed on his good graces enough, especially after chucking flasks of potion at him. She nicked a bottle from the table and darted out the door before he could stop her, making her way back to the common room with all the speed she could manage. She had much to think on, and more studying to do before Wednesday evening.

* * *

So I'm hoping that Snape was suitably Snape-like for everyone, I do believe I was in a bit of a snit when I wrote this, so it was helpful in the overall tone of the occlumency session. Like it? Hate it? Review constructively please. 


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